Our Fathers
by Indarae
Summary: Three boys coming of age in a world of terror face off against an uncertain future. A father dies, a father tells his story, and a father is made human against the backdrop of Voldemort’s second rise to power and
1. Prologue

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**Title:** Our Fathers (prologue)  
**Author name:** Indarae  
**Author email:** hornbach@grinnell.edu  
**Category:** Drama  
**Sub Category:** Angst  
**Keywords:** Hogwarts Ron Harry Draco Year-Five  
**Rating:** PG  
**Spoilers:** SS/PS, CoS, PoA, GoF, FB, QTTA  
**Summary:** Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Draco Malfoy – three boys coming of age in a world of terror face off against an uncertain future. A father dies, a father tells his story, and a father is made human against the backdrop of Voldemort's second rise to power and a mysterious discovery hidden in the history of Hogwarts itself.  
**DISCLAIMER:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.   
**Author notes:** Another semester, another story. Though quite different than 'Sunday, Bloody Sunday,' it was conceived in much the same fashion – with a line from book four (quoted at the start of Part One) which inspired the following idea. The premise: an examination of family through the loss of it, the gain of it, and problems within it, each from a different point of view. But don't worry. There's a plot too ;) Enjoy!  


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**Prelude**

In a small, dark bedroom in an average home, a young man awoke screaming from a nightmare. Down the hall, his aunt and uncle weren't disturbed by his shouts as their son, the boy's cousin, snored loudly enough to cover even a shriek of terror. Alone and forgotten, the boy glanced around frantically, trying to remember where he was and how on earth he'd gotten to the small, ordinary bedroom from the terrible landscape of the dream.

He reached out, grabbed his eyeglasses from the bedside table, and slipped them onto his face pausing only to rub his forehead and, with it, the most remarkable feature of his unremarkable countenance - the lighting bold shaped scar hovering on his brow. Harry Potter, of course, was no normal boy and the scar that was the focus of his attention was no ordinary scar.

The scar, left after a failed attempt on his life when he was only a small child, was burning with a feverish intensity, hot under Harry's touch. The scar was the cause of his nightmare and was caused by the evil wizard who had killed his parents and indirectly forced him to be confined in the small, dark bedroom of Number 4 Privet Drive. There was only one person in the world that Harry truly loathed with all his being, and that was the Dark Wizard Voldemort - a man who, after the terrible conclusion of Harry's previous school year - was now roaming the world once more with Harry's own blood running through his veins.

Harry launched to his feet and padded across the room to the broken table - it was propped up on a box, as it was missing a leg - which served as a desk, pulling out a long feathered quill and a scrap of parchment. He hated to bother his godfather, Sirius, who no doubt had dozens of more important things to worry himself about than a silly dream, but he'd promised to tell him if anything happened to his scar. He rested the tip of the quill on the parchment, watching an unsightly blob spread across the page... and stopped. It was just a dream. Voldemort had been in it of course, and Wormtail, the traitor who had sold out Harry's parents to evil and was the reason he couldn't live with his godfather, but Cedric Diggory had been in it too. The dream could never happen. Cedric Diggory was dead - and it was Harry's fault.

The details of the dream already fading from his mind, Harry set aside the ruined parchment and stared gloomily into the cracked mirror stuck above the broken table with a nail and a piece of chewing gum. The scar was there, ever present, though the pain had faded with the dream. His mop of black hair as untidy as ever and long enough to warrant a trim, though Harry was loathe to allow his Aunt Petunia to touch his hair. They weren't likely to pay for a professional haircut for the hated wizard, even when Dudley always got one. His eyes, emerald green, seemed duller and more haunted than the previous summer; though he had managed to convince himself that it was only a figment of his imagination. The deep bags beneath his eyes, gaunt face, and ribs clearly visible beneath his skin, however, could not be explained away so easily. He'd barely grown in height and had clearly shrunk in breadth, thanks to Dudley's eternal diet. He was wasting away into nothing - but nothing sounded rather good.

A sudden tremour ran down the length of his body uncontrollably, sending Harry grabbing for the edge of the desk to steady himself. Too shocked by the sudden jerk to think clearly, he turned abruptly and stumbled toward his bed. The spasm came again, sending Harry tumbling to the ground.

_A ring of black robed figures surrounded a simple suburban home. Voldemort, tall and serpentine, led them, blasting his way through the front door. Harry recognized the interior as a wizarding home immediately from the moving photographs on the wall and the large Puddlemere United Quidditch poster framed above the mantle._

_Voldemort swept through the home, pointing for underlings to take the stairs up to the second floor and down to the basement. The home was small and suburban, very much similar to the identical houses lining Privet Drive. The Dark Lord himself pushed into a simple kitchen where the owner seemed to be waiting for them. The elderly man stood his ground, wand at the ready and held firmly against Voldemort. A manic grin crossed his face. "The Ministry knew you were coming. My sons aren't here, so don't bother wasting your time. I'll tell you nothing."_

_"_Expelliarmus_!" shouted Voldemort; a snarl crossing his lips as the old man's wand came zooming into the Dark Lord's long-fingered hand. "I did not come here to ask you anything, Mr. Fletcher, merely to rid myself of a potential threat. What a pity - you don't seem to be the fearsome Auror you once were... but that doesn't matter. I have learned my lesson when it comes to judging appearances. _Avada Kedavra._"_

_An eerie green light, terribly familiar to Harry as the effect of the curse that took the lives of his parents, flashed through the room. Mr. Fletcher dropped to the floor, the manic grin still on his face, and lay still. Voldemort didn't care, stepping over the body. "Lucius!"_

_A robed man, ostensibly the Lucius Malfoy who was the father of Harry's school rival, pushed open the door of the kitchen to join his master. He bowed low, staring at the body. "My Lord?"_

_"How did the Ministry know that Mundugus Fletcher was my target? I was intending to wipe the entire family out."_

_Malfoy shook visibly. "My Lord... how would I...? I don't know, Lord..."_

_"Not good enough. _Crucio_," Voldemort sneered. Lucius fell to the ground screaming in agony, and Harry winced with remembered pain. Voldemort had done the same to him, twice, the previous year. He wouldn't wish that sort of pain on anyone - not even Lucius Malfoy. "You work at the Ministry," Voldemort was continuing, "you escaped any sort of incarceration in Azkaban, and you are friendly with the traitor Snape. You expect me to believe that you are not spying for that old fool at Hogwarts?"_

_"My Lord, I am loyal! I would never -"_

_Voldemort glowered and Lucius grew silent. "You cannot play both sides anymore, Lucius. Do not lie to me, I have many eyes and ears that you do not know of. You have one more chance, Lucius, as I am a forgiving man. Am I not? _Crucio!_"_

There was another scream and Harry snapped awake, as if he were the one being tortured. He was lying across his own floor, face wet with perspiration. Down the hall, the Dursleys were still snoring, untroubled by Harry's visions.

It all made little sense to Harry. Voldemort was hurting one of his most active supporters. Lucius Malfoy had been the one who gave Voldemort's enchanted diary to a Hogwarts student in the hopes of clearing the school of Muggle-born wizards, just as Voldemort himself had attempted. How could the Dark Lord believe Lucius Malfoy to be unfaithful?

The man dead, Mundugus Fletcher, was a name Harry was familiar with: he'd been mentioned as one of the old crowd that Sirius and Professor Lupin were to contact over the summer. Harry pulled himself to his feet and scrambled for parchment, intent on warning Sirius of the murder, when a shock reverberated throughout the house. While the Durlseys slept on, Harry hurried to his window and peered out.

A burst of flame was visible over the trees a few blocks away and there, hovering above it, was the Dark Mark, a luminous green skull with a snake slithering from the mouth. Voldemort's mark. Harry gulped.

He was getting closer.

Across England, outside the Muggle town of Ottery St. Catchpole, Ron Weasley was also sitting awake. He hadn't been the victim of a nightmare, however - he was awake because of a screaming match taking place in the living room of his home. His brother Percy, a worker very loyal to the Minister of Magic, and his father, a worker very loyal to Headmaster Dumbledore, were arguing very loudly over just who had the right idea about the future of Wizarding England. Minister Fudge didn't believe in You-Know-Who's return - despite the killings like the one happening at that very moment to Mundugus Fletcher - and Percy agreed that Harry Potter had been the victim of a massive movement by the remaining Death Eaters to make it _appear_ as if You-Know-Who was back, when he was actually dead.

It was an utter lie, of course. Ron knew what Harry had seen. Harry was his best friend, and Harry would certainly never lie about something as important as the return of the Dark Lord. Ron had told Percy that - but of course, Percy hadn't bothered to listen.

"Ron?" A whisper came from the doorway. It was Ginny, outlined in a glow from the fire burning down in the living room.

"I'm awake," he whispered back. "I don't think anyone could sleep through the two of them going at it."

Ginny crossed the room and climbed onto the bed next to her brother. "Why won't Percy just listen? Harry was telling the truth!"

"Does Percy listen to any of his brothers?" Ron retorted, making a strangled face. Percy didn't listen to anyone, unless they had an official title. Ginny made a face, too, though Ron though that probably had less to do with Percy's comments and more to do with the though of Harry as a brother. Ginny was very much crushing on Harry. She had been for years, and it didn't seem as though she'd be giving up any time soon.

"Why don't they stop fighting?" she finally whispered. "They won't agree..."

"I know," Ron sighed. "People don't want it to be true, though. I think they'll keep pretending until You-Know-Who shows up on their doorsteps." Ron idly wondered what Harry was doing. Well, sleeping... he hadn't heard from his friend in weeks, since they'd parted at King's Cross Station after the end of last term. While there were still more weeks before he would return to school, Ron was actually looking forward to it this year. Harry wasn't to be allowed to stay at the Burrow. It was too dangerous, since You-Know-Who could actually show up on their doorstep. Harry was supposed to be safe with his relatives.

Finally, a shout from Ron's dad echoed through the house. "NO ONE IS TO MENTION THE TOURNAMENT! Do you hear me? He's BACK."

The light from downstairs flickered out, and Ron heard someone trudging up the stairs. Percy's voice passed by the doorway through the gloom of darkness, almost inaudible. "He can't be back... he just can't be back..."

After a moment had passed, and Percy was certainly out of earshot, Ginny whispered again. "Ron...? I want to stay here tonight."

"Sure, Ginny." At least she could pretend she was safe. No body was safe, anymore.

A world away, Draco Malfoy found himself roused out of bed by his mother. "Draco? There are Aurors downstairs... wake up, dear."

Aurors meant that his father was under suspicion again. It had been ages since the Aurors had appeared on the doorstep of Malfoy Manor demanding to see inside... not that they would be caught off guard, even in the dead of night. He climbed out of bed and made sure that his birthday present - a book on the Dark Arts - was carefully hidden at the bottom of his school trunk and followed his mother downstairs. The raids were coming more often, as they all became more concerned about the rise of Lord Voldemort. Fudge had been a fool, pretending that it hadn't happened... Draco knew his father would put the man in his place.

There was a loud crash from somewhere in one of the North parlours, and Narcissa winced. "Ohh... I hope that wasn't the Chinese porcelain... it just doesn't repair correctly, when they're gone..."

"Why are they here, this time?" Draco whispered. He fell silent as he was ushered out the front door and into the sultry July night by a scowling Auror. His father was nowhere to be seen. Hopefully someone would give word, so he wouldn't come home in his Death Eater robes again...

"They said someone died in Little Whinging. I don't know anyone in Little Whinging," she snapped. "I was asleep! I don't know where Lucius is, do you hear me?" Narcissa shouted at the nearest Auror. "My son and I were asleep!"

Draco sneered at the Auror, a tallish, large man who sneered right back. He turned and peered at one of the windows, which served well enough as a make-shift mirror. He was a fright. Blonde hair tousled; dark bags under silvery-blue eyes... he'd look just terrible the next morning. What a waste. They wouldn't find anything, anyway. Even Draco didn't know where his father kept the Dark Arts artifacts anymore!

More crashes. A soft moan of regret from his mother. And then his father Apparated onto the front step, clothed in a fine silken robe and immaculately groomed. "By Merlin, what are you doing?" he demanded of the large Auror.

Draco stood just a little taller. With his father on the scene, he'd be allowed his precious sleep soon enough. "Mr. Malfoy, there was talk of a certain book being in your possession... an original copy of Rowena Ravenclaw's diaries?"

Lucius sniffed imperiously, looking down his nose at the Auror. "I have no such thing - and why would it matter, if I did? Owning a book is not a crime."

"A _stolen_ copy," the Auror added.

It was certainly the wrong thing to say. Lucius bristled, glaring darkly at the man. "You are accusing me of theft? Go on, then, search the Manor! I'll promise you, there is no diary of Ravenclaw on the premises!"

Of course the diary wouldn't be there... As the Auror ran off, Lucius turned and winked broadly at Draco. He leaned over and pecked Narcissa on the cheek. "Good evening, my dear... good morning, I suppose. They won't find it here. _He_ has it." Lucius reached over and smoothed down Draco's locks. "You look a fright, boy. What if they'd brought photographers? I just might call a few, actually... how would that look, on the front page of the Prophet? 'Ministry Official's Home Raided at Midnight Hour - No Evidence Found.' It's ridiculous... they've been here a dozen times before. Do they ever find anything? Of course not!"

Draco smirked and leaned against the front door. He hadn't a clue where his father had been - probably something to do with Lord Voldemort - but he was home now. No one could mess with his father. Not the Ministry, not anyone...

How little he knew.

A/N2: This author's note is completely optional reading! If you're interested in the theory behind the creation of 'Our Fathers,' along with some hints as to what will happen, keep reading. If not... click on review! Right... for everyone left... 'Our Fathers' will be a novel-length fanfiction in four parts. The first is from Draco's POV, the second from Ron's, and the third from Harry's, with the fourth from varied POVs and tying the whole plot arc together. This concept was created on Father's Day of 2002, as I sat wondering about the familial ties of all the main characters in HP. Part One: A Traitor's Heart. Part Two: Home for the Holidays. Part Three: No Other Road. Part Four: Finale.

Read? Review!

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	2. Bloodlines

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**Title:** Our Fathers (01)  
**Author name:** Indarae  
**Author email:** hornbach@grinnell.edu  
**Category:** Drama  
**Sub Category:** Angst  
**Keywords:** Hogwarts Ron Harry Draco Year-Five  
**Rating:** PG  
**Spoilers:** SS/PS, CoS, PoA, GoF, FB, QTTA  
**Summary:** Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Draco Malfoy – three boys coming of age in a world of terror face off against an uncertain future. A father dies, a father tells his story, and a father is made human against the backdrop of Voldemort's second rise to power and a mysterious discovery hidden in the history of Hogwarts itself.  
**DISCLAIMER:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.   
**Author notes:** Another semester, another story. Though quite different than 'Sunday, Bloody Sunday,' it was conceived in much the same fashion – with a line from book four (quoted at the start of Part One) which inspired the following idea. The premise: an examination of family through the loss of it, the gain of it, and problems within it, each from a different point of view. But don't worry. There's a plot too ;) Enjoy!  


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**Part One: A Traitor's Heart**

"'You've picked the losing side, Potter! I warned you! I told you you ought to choose your company more carefully, remember? When we met on the train, first day of Hogwarts? I told you not to hang around with riffraff like this!' He jerked his head at Ron and Hermione. 'Too late now, Potter! They'll be the first to go, now the Dark Lord's back! Mudbloods and Muggle-lovers first!'"

-Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, page 729 (1st ed., hardcover)

**Chapter One - Bloodlines**

Never had there been a more terrifying summer for Draco Malfoy. Everything had gone downhill after that first Ministry raid in late July. He'd supposed that the rising of the Dark Lord would bring better times than he'd ever imagined for his family, times as great as any his father had related from the first war: the Minister at the knees of Lord Voldemort, all of his closest followers elevated to high and important positions in all places of society, Mudbloods and Muggle-lovers put in their places, and Harry Potter fearing for his very life.

While the last might be true, the rest was nowhere near what Draco had expected. Far from it, indeed. As the day of his return to Hogwarts grew nearer, things grew more dire behind the grand front of the Malfoy name. Lucius was under suspicion from Voldemort for escaping so easily from incarceration in Azkaban after October of 1981. The Aurors had appeared five times in under a month to conduct searches for illicit goods within Malfoy Manor, though nothing had been found. Each Auror visit caused more suspicion from Voldemort, as each was a chance for Lucius to pass information to the Light. Lucius was under careful watch at the Ministry from both sides, and Narcissa found herself left off the guest list of social events for pureblooded families supporting both sides of the conflict. Indeed, even Draco was feeling the effects of Voldemort's disfavor - Pansy Parkinson, of whom he had become rather fond, had been forbidden to associate with him by her Death Eater father, a man whose 3 years of time served in Azkaban seemed to show Voldemort his loyalty.

And so the tension was thick in the Malfoy home, and rising steadily with every meeting Lucius attended. With every meeting Lucius returned from, shaking with the aftereffects of the Dark Lord's wrath, the situation worsened. And so, late on the night before Draco's trip to Diagon Alley for school supplies and escape from the oppressive confines of his father's house, he knelt outside of the study and peeked through the ancient lock, waiting.

His mother was pacing, biting her lip in agitation as she waited for Lucius to appear. The pacing was never a good sign, usually signifying the coming of a long, loud argument upon the latter's return home. As he watched, Lucius Apparated into place only a few steps from Narcissa and collapsed to the ground, muscles twitching from Cruciatus. Narcissa was at his side in an instant, perfectly manicured hands drawing his head into her lap to protect her husband from harming his skull during the seizure, as he'd done on other nights. Though she started off quietly, the words were easily identifiable by Draco at the keyhole. "Bloody hell, Lucius, what did you do this time? It's the third punishment this week."

"Narcissa, darling," he hissed through clenched teeth, face flashing with remaining pain, "this isn't the time. Get me up onto the divan, and get me quill and parchment. My work isn't done for this evening."

She laughed coldly; standing and letting Lucius' head fall to the stones with an audible thud. He winced. "By Merlin, Lucius, when will it ever be the time?! I'm sick to death of all of this! He's punishing you for being smart enough to escape Azkaban!"

"Not the time -"

"No more games. No more, Lucius! Think about what this is doing to me. What it's doing to your son! Draco has already been abandoned by the Parkinson's girl - if you don't do something to get on the good side of the Dark Lord, he'll lose everything! Enough fence-sitting, though it's all you've ever been truly great at. Make a sodding choice and go with it, even if it's to throw our lot in with Dumbledore and his ridiculous little lot of heroes!"

"Narcissa -" Lucius pushed himself to his feet, swaying on unsteady legs.

She took a step back. "Don't you dare try to tell me that letter you were about to write wouldn't go straight to Severus, and Merlin knows we're aware what side he plays! Please make a choice - not for me, but for Draco!"

Lucius turned and looked toward the door, sending Draco ducking out of the way. "You're right," Lucius said, barely audible from the hallway. "I need to fix things..." There was a long pause, in which Draco couldn't see his parents actions while he hid off to the side. Abruptly, his father spoke once more. "We shouldn't be discussing matters such as these. Merlin only knows who might be listening in... Now get the damned parchment. Lord Voldemort gave me a task, and failure means my death. And possibly yours."

That was enough for Draco. He ducked into a shadow and dashed back to his rooms, fear of losing everything clouding his mind and keeping him from falling asleep. When Lucius Malfoy sounded afraid... it was time to be worried.

Just like any sane 15-year-old male, Draco Malfoy despised shopping with his mother. The stop at Madame Malkin's began a tirade on the "truly deplorable nature" of the owner's stocks. Everything was "too Tudor, out of style for months" or "far too Asian influenced. We are British, not Chinese." Everything at Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour was "simply too fattening," which made all of the chocolate shops "quite out of the question." At Quality Quidditch Supplies, Draco was promised the new Cleansweep Ultra if he ever managed to beat "that pathetic Potter boy," though Draco's new Seeker gloves had to be monogrammed in Slytherin green for good luck. And then, finally, the last stop - Flourish and Blotts.

Draco held the door for his mother and obediently followed her inside. He enjoyed reading, though most titles that caught his fancy would not be available in Diagon Alley. Knockturn was much more to his tastes. Thus, he followed his mother straight to the schoolbook display, drawing his Hogwarts letter from his front robe pocket. "Alright, Mother... _Standard Book of Spells, Grade 5... Mysteries of Text_ by Irma Authorne, for Ancient Runes... yes, Mother, that's my Potions text."

If his years with his father hadn't taught him to hone his skills of observation, he might've missed the voices whispering behind him. "Oh, drat - Malfoy. Let's leave before he sees us."

Any opportunity to bait the Gryffindor Brat Pack was something to be cherished. "What's this I smell? Must be a Weasley. Too poor to afford soap?" Draco turned and found himself face to face with all three of them - not like they were ever apart. "Well, if it isn't Mudblood and Potty too! Buying your schoolbooks for you, Weasel?"

"I'm surprised to see you here, Malfoy. Not old enough to play with Daddy in Knockturn Alley yet?" Ouch. And the Mudblood had been practicing her insults.

Ready with a stunning repartee about the size of one's hair being a cover for lack of brainpower - an insult he was particularly looking forward to using on the Mudblood of the bushy hair - Draco was rather annoyed when his mother added to the conversation. "Draco, dear, I haven't been properly introduced to your friends." Though the stress of her sarcasm was evident, Draco was sure his face mirrored the look of disgust and horror on the Weasel's at the mere suggestion of the two ever being friendly.

"I'm sure only one of their names will be of importance. These are three of the Gryffindors from my year. Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, Harry Potter, this is my mother, Narcissa Malfoy." Draco gestured and spoke politely, but was sure to settle a menacing gaze on each in turn. Only Potter looked completely unaffected.

His mother peered down at Potter, who was still quite short for his age. Draco was taller by a good several centimeters, though Weasley had sprung up to a towering height. At least it meant his flaming orange hair was less visible for everyone involved. "Harry Potter?" Narcissa asked, sneering. "Surely you jest. He's far too... unimpressive."

The mixed horror, anger, and dismay on the Boy Wonder's face was priceless. Draco couldn't help from grinning in glee. "Yes, mother. In the flesh."

"Mm. What a pity he resembles his father so. His mother was quite the beauty, you know. I always wondered why she wasted her time on a Gryffindor. Draco, have you all your books? We're to meet your father for lunch." Narcissa reached for the pile of books in her son's arms.

Potter seemed to have snapped out of his stupor. "Mrs. Malfoy, wait! You knew my mother...? I thought she was in Gryffindor..."

The shrewd and calculating glance she gave Potter was one she'd used often on Lucius' friends: considering exactly what she could get out of the famous Harry Potter for information. From her immediate frown, the answer was obvious - not much. "She was a year behind me at Hogwarts. In Gryffindor, yes; though it's a pity. She'd have been Slytherin, but for her unfortunate parentage." Narcissa's frown deepened. "I always expected her to end up with Remus Lupin, but after I heard he was a _werewolf_, it made much more sense why she avoided him. Poor man. It's illegal for lycanthropes to marry in our world, you know."

"Mother, we'll be late," Draco cut in. The look of awe on Potter's face was disgusting.

Interrupted from her thoughts, Narcissa nodded hastily. "Yes, he'll be waiting." She glanced back to Potter with a faraway look in her eyes. "If things were different... but I suppose that would be too much to ask for. If things are ever more favorable, I would like to tell you about your mother." And, surprising even Draco, she gave a small smile and patted Potter on the shoulder before turning and walking off to purchase the books.

He stood, staring at the baffled Gryffindors with equal confusion. For just a moment, with Houses and sides of the conflict stripped away, Draco found himself ready to offer something other than an insult. But then it was gone. Without a word, derogatory or otherwise, he turned and followed his mother.

Being forced to walk around in bloody Muggle clothing in the midst of bloody Muggle London was perhaps the most degrading experience Draco Malfoy had ever been forced to suffer. "Mother," he hissed, glaring down his aristocratic nose at a couple who were passing by, "would you come off it and tell me why we're meeting Father at a... _Muggle_ restaurant?"

"He believes there to be a listening spell active on the manor. And please, Draco, don't call them Muggles when we're among them, it confuses the poor dears." Narcissa smiled winningly at an oddly dressed man wearing chains and hideous pieces of metal through his face - along with vivid purple hair. Draco wondered if he was a convict of some sort, marked so the Muggle Aurors could track him. The jingling chains and brightly coloured hair were ingenious, especially for a Muggle. "This, here - this is the place. In we go now, dear."

Somehow, being shuffled around by his mother in the midst of the Muggle world was even more embarrassing than in the wizarding world. Wasn't he supposed to be superior to all these people? He settled a deep scowl on his face, ignoring a sympathetic look from some Muggle boy around his age sitting in the corner of the posh restaurant.

Lucius was waiting for them at a table set aside from the rest, in a darker corner. "You're late, Narcissa."

"I'm so sorry, Lucius. I ran into the son of an old school friend, and lost track of the time. Besides, you always have plenty of time set aside for dining, dear." She took her napkin from the table and set about smoothing it over her lap.

"Not as much as I should, today," Lucius replied with a scowl. "Waiter, a bottle of your finest red, and whatever the special is for all of us. And make it fast, I have little time to be wasting." The waiter scurried off as swiftly as he'd appeared, and Lucius turned back to his wife, ignoring Draco. "I'd nearly covered up the book theft when Arthur Weasley showed up, demanding a full list of stolen goods. Seems Dumbledore found out about the robbery. I'll have to alert our Lord that another spy is within the Inner Circle." He sighed. "I doubt the outcome of that discussion will be anything but painful."

"Wait... who stole the books?" Draco demanded, though not softly enough, as his father silenced him with a hiss of dismay.

Lucius glanced around nervously. "Avery and I, of course. I think our Lord was after a Veela scroll of cosmetic spells - and with the way he looks, I don't wonder why. That's why we meet in Muggle London, where no one, Ministry or... otherwise, can overhear us. That Veela text, which Eli Baker is translating even now for the Dark Lord, contains spells calling for Veela blood."

Narcissa's hands shook as she tried to hide her shock. "Oh, no... Lucius, you can't mean..."

"Veela blood? Why should it matter to us, then? Great-grandmum died three years back and father, didn't your mum die when you were a baby?" Draco snapped, ignoring the glare his father was sending. "There aren't any more Veela related to us alive."

"You really are daft, aren't you," Lucius sneered. "What _are_ they teaching at that dreadful school? My mother was a Veela... and what does that mean, boy? I've got Veela blood. _You_ have Veela blood, and you, Draco, are the last Malfoy heir, as well as one of the few British wizards of Veela blood. And damn it all, that Veela blood is suddenly putting us all in very real danger!"

"Oh, gods... Bloody hell, you cant' seriously mean that Lord Bloody Voldemort is intending to slit our throats so he'll look pretty again!" Draco was well aware that he'd begun to hyperventilate and that his voice was slowly growing louder in his panic. Fearing his father dying was one thing. They'd never been particularly close and, surely Draco would miss him, but he wouldn't miss the endless edge-of-the-razorblade games his father had been playing with both sides. At least he, Draco, would be loyal to whichever side ended up offering him the better deal. Now, however, fearing his own death was an entirely different matter.

Lucius clamped a hand on his son's wrist. "It's only a suspicion, not a truth. Now calm yourself, we don't wish to alarm the Muggles." And not more than a moment after Lucius spoke, the waiter arrived with the wine and food. Draco wasn't conscious of what he was eating. With his fears, it all turned to ash in his mouth anyways.

"Now then," Lucius continued, "We've been called before the Dark Lord at midnight tonight. Either he means to use the spell or means to initiate Draco. After that last scene," Lucius sneered in his son's direction, "I almost hope it is the first, as I wouldn't be able to stand your whinging and whimpering in our Lord's presence. More likely it will be the first, of course. I wasn't able to give the scroll more than a cursory examination, but it appears that at least one of us will be in serious danger, depending upon the spell he chooses. I assume that I will be the one sacrificed, if it comes to that, as I've the most Veela in my ancestry."

"You aren't getting sacrificed," Narcissa snapped, glaring across the table at her husband.

Lucius set his fork aside rather forcefully and met the glare with equal fire. "If it saves your lives, then so be it. However, I'm constructing portkeys directly after I return from work, which I'll attach somewhere on our clothing, somewhere safe."

"Portkeys to where? What happens if... I'm the only one left?" Draco winced, knawing on his lower lip. It was a nervous habit he'd thought himself free of - however, he was in mortal peril; a bad habit seemed much less important.

Lucius and Narcissa exchanged worried glances, which did nothing to soothe his mind. "To the Manor... but if we're both dead, you'll need to grab your Gringotts key and both of ours along with the parchments in my study drawer - I'll show you the correct ones this evening - and make for Hogwarts," Lucius said, looking troubled.

"Severus is officially still your godfather, despite our parting of ways several years ago," Narcissa offered. "It will be his legal duty to protect you - and in the safety of Hogwarts, the Dark Lord cannot touch you."

"It won't come to that," Lucius added hastily. "Either myself or your mother will no doubt survive to be with you, and probably both of us. We'll get out, Draco. Now... go on, finish your food. I need to return to work soon."

Food was the last thing on Draco's mind, but he complied. Fear was taking over quickly, however - fear of the Dark Lord, fear of death, fear of losing his parents, and, increasingly, an irrational fear of being left alone. Somehow, the meeting with Potter had become much less important.

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	3. Blood Rites

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**Title:** Our Fathers (02)  
**Author name:** Indarae  
**Author email:** hornbach@grinnell.edu  
**Category:** Drama  
**Sub Category:** Angst  
**Keywords:** Hogwarts Ron Harry Draco Year-Five  
**Rating:** PG  
**Spoilers:** SS/PS, CoS, PoA, GoF, FB, QTTA  
**Summary:** Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Draco Malfoy – three boys coming of age in a world of terror face off against an uncertain future. A father dies, a father tells his story, and a father is made human against the backdrop of Voldemort's second rise to power and a mysterious discovery hidden in the history of Hogwarts itself.  
**DISCLAIMER:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.   
**Author notes:** I'm back from holiday in Ireland, so on with the writing... I'll probably be sending out about two chapters a week until I catch up with what I've already written. Quick note to the reviewer who spoke of slang in the narrative (sorry, I don't have your name handy!): It is indeed done on purpose. As a POV character piece, I'm trying to present a flow of consciousness type of narrative. I certainly don't think in complete sentences, and I use a great deal of slang in thoughts, and thus pulled it over into the thoughts of the characters perceived by the narrator, as well. It's just a style I'm experimenting with – bear with me, I hope it'll turn out well.  


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Chapter Two - Blood Rites

Draco tried to remember when life had last been good to him. Each act of Voldemort seemed to set his family back in one way or another until this last fateful move threatened their very lives. He glanced over to the old clock gracing the study mantle - it was nearing time to leave the safety of the manor to face death.

Lucius entered the room, something metallic and silver in his hand. "One-time portkey. It's a copy of your grandfather's signet ring." He held it out, and Draco slipped it onto his finger, careful not to touch the family crest, which would trigger the transport. "It will bring you right back here," Lucius continued. "Your mum always wears that brooch, so I made a portkey copy... and Voldemort would never think to check my belt buckle, hmm?"

Draco attempted to smile at his father, but the grin was closer to a grimace of worry. "You'll teach me how to make portkeys when this is all over, right, Father?"

He'd heard the portkey rant a dozen times before, but the familiarity seemed helpful right now. Lucius ruffled Draco's hair, a proud smile appearing on his face - talking about portkeys was his passion. "We Malfoys have a talent for it. That's what Lord Voldemort courted me for, back in '67, when I joined up. Long ago, our family was the only family with the knowledge of the craft. The incantations come not from Latin, but from an ancient dialect of Aramaic, much older than even Greek. This is where our fortune began; with the secrets of the portkey."

"But lots of people can make them now." It was almost a game, the banter about the portkeys. Once, not long ago, Draco had found the speech silly and useless. After all, it was the same information, time and time again, but now... he might never see his father alive again. One more rant seemed like not enough time.

"Very true," Lucius continued, oblivious to the dark thoughts of his son. "I don't expect you to understand the importance of the portkey lore, not until you are mature. I didn't. Just remember - there are still some secrets of portkeys that the Ministry workers do not know." And he winked, giving a grin so out of character that Draco could do nothing but smile.

Narcissa entered then, adjusting the collar of her modest lavender robes. She managed to appear proper and motherly, even while looking glamorous. Shining at her throat was the portkey copy of her favourite brooch. "It's time, Lucius. If we're late, he'll kill us no matter his original intentions."

"We're to Apparate over, though he'll probably fix wards around once we're inside, if he intends to use the spell... Draco, come take my hand. You too, Narcissa. I'm not to tell the location of the meetings." Draco moved to his father's side. "Remember, I'll pay my respects first, then your mother, then you. Just follow my lead." And, without another word, Draco found himself elsewhere, in a dark marble foyer.

It wasn't an initiation. It couldn't be. Vince and Greg's fathers were standing behind the three Malfoys, identifiable by their impressive bulk. Another pair of grunts - unknown to Draco - stood by their side. Avery and another man of Veela heritage - the Eli Baker Lucius had mentioned, no doubt - were flanking the Dark Lord's throne, unmasked. And on the throne, Lord Voldemort lounged. Draco shuddered imperceptibly as the hideously serpentine red eyes raked over his form. A grotesque smirk plastered itself onto Lord Voldemort's face, and before Lucius could approach the throne to pay homage, the horrid figure raised a thin, disfigured hand. "I have no wish to speak to you, Lucius. I know the games you play. Crabbe, Goyle, restrain him until I am ready for him."

Lucius' hand went for his belt buckle, but the bulky hands of two men he'd called friends caught him fast. Draco watched out of the corner of his eye, turning the portkey on his finger so that, in a moment's notice, he could escape. He saw his mother clutch at the fabric of her robes. Now! They should both leave now, and Lucius would find a way to escape -

"Narcissa, my dear, I require your council. Approach the throne and kneel before me." Such a simple command. Draco waited for his mother's signal to leave, but it never came. Instead, she went to kneel before him.

For just a moment, Draco wondered if the whole ordeal had been a setup, put in place with his mother's help to catch Lucius in a traitorous act. But then, as Voldemort lowered his face and whispered into her ear, a flash of silver caught Draco's eye.

Avery and Baker were muttering words that he didn't understand, and Lucius screamed out a cry of terror. Veela? Were they speaking Veela? And then Draco saw the stain of blood spreading over the pale lavender fabric covering his mother's neck.

With a choked cry, he flung himself forward, intending to do something drastic to Voldemort, but the hands of the other flunkies held him fast. He heard screaming. His? His father's? He couldn't be sure. A soft light seemed to envelop the form of his mother and spread over to the twisted frame of Voldemort.

And then his mother's body slumped forward, clearly dead. Narcissa's blood had brought change. In the place of the translucent-skinned snake sat a cloaked old man, bent with age but clearly human. Human, except for red-irised eyes which focused themselves directly on Draco.

Lord Voldemort's voice was still low and sibilant, not wavering with age as his new appearance would suggest. "Bring the son. As the blood of the mother restores, the blood of the child will youthen."

Part of the chant? He wouldn't know. As he was dragged forward, he became conscious of his father's shriek and sudden cry of "Draco! Go!" It took a moment for the command to register in his panicked brain, but when it finally did, Draco touched the face of the ring and vanished. The no longer functioning portkey was left to drop to the floor in his place.

And, a stomach-twisting moment later, he was back in his father's study. He fell to his knees, shaking uncontrollably as the scene played through his mind again and again. Blood on the pale lavender robes and the flash of light and Voldemort, human. Draco let out a sob, closing his eyes and trying desperately to focus on anything but the vision of the last moments of his mother's life.

After a moment, however, he knew he'd wasted enough time. He had a duty to perform. He launched to his feet and snatched the bundle from the desk, turning to make a dash up to his room.

Everything there was packed, ready for the return to Hogwarts in only a few hours time. Heedless of the regulations against magic, Draco snatched his wand from its velvet case inside the trunk and hurriedly shoved the files on top of the stacks of robes and slacks. "_Reducio_." He picked up the now tiny trunk and stuck it in his pocket, turning again to the door without a second thought. The weight of the trunk was comforting as it banged against his leg, reminding him that he really was alive and running for his life.

"Shit shit shit shit..." It was a mantra to Draco as he rushed through the halls of the manor. He ducked into the master bedroom only long enough to grab the family Gringotts keys as instructed and continued toward his goal. His home was empty, foreboding. He expected a house-elf to show its face, but even that comfort was denied him.

Finally, he reached the only floo-connected fireplace in the Manor. The ornate snuff box of floo powder found its way into Draco's pocket as well, though not until a pinch had been snatched for immediate use. As Draco was about to toss in the powder and call out "Hogwarts," a thought struck him. He hadn't a clue what the floo stop at the school was called.

The sound of raised male voices forced him to action, despite his unease. And then the answer came, so simple he was amazed he hadn't considered it earlier. In went the powder and "Snape Manor!" was called as he stepped into the flames - just in time, as he heard the study door being flung open. Hopefully, they hadn't heard his destination.

An ungainly step on the other side found him kneeling unsteadily in the dusty floor of a dark, deserted parlour. Draco sneezed and started cursing loudly again, though this time at himself. "Stupid, bloody git! School starts tomorrow! Of course he's not here!"

But a floo directory should be. Hurrying through corridors remembered from his youth, in the years before the falling out between his father and Snape, Draco finally found himself in the ancient and musty library. He dashed along the shelves, tossing any yellow-and-orange bound volumes aside, searching madly for the correct one.

"He knows that Snape's my godfather... He knows I'd come here... and the bloody Death Eaters probably heard where I was going anyways..." he hissed as he went, comforted slightly by the sound of his own voice. "They'll be here any minute. Damn, damn, da - aha!"

And there it was, like a shining beacon of Hope. "_Floo Directory, 1986_. Blimey, he's been away a while..." Pages were flipped quickly, some tearing in his blind panic. "Bones... Earton... Felton... Haymere Pub... Hogwarts!" He stared blankly at the address, and slowly began to panic. "Unlisted. Shit shit shit shit." And so the mantra began over again as Draco made for the door. Only one option, the least safe, remained. "Knight Bus. Ugh."

But then he heard voices. "I heard him up ahead! Apparate out front and cut him off!" With a muffled curse, Draco's course changed and he plowed toward the kitchens blindly. The door was locked, but a quick kick should make a break large enough to slip through.

And kick he did, though the loud splitting of noise alerted his pursuers. He could hear the footsteps, shouts, and impediment curses being flung his way as he made for the freedom of the road.

They were gaining, but Draco had his wand already outstretched. With agility he hadn't known he possessed, he hopped the fence and reached the roadside just as the Knight Bus responded to his signal and popped into existence. "Welcome!" said the driver, "I'm -"

Draco threw himself up the stairs. "Hurry! Get a move on, those are Death Eaters!" A gasp echoed from some other passengers, but the driver acted, slamming the door closed with eyes wide in panic. Another man grabbed his arm and dragged him away from the door, as the Knight Bus popped on its way, leaving the Death Eaters behind on Snape's front lawn.

"Hey, kid, are you alright? No charge for that 'un, of course! I'm glad we were there in time. Death Eaters, you say? Is that truth? I've been hearin' things, course, but I didn' know they were back in full force!" The assistant wasn't the only one crowding around and asking questions.

"Hogwarts. I have to get to Hogwarts! Please, let me alone, I just watched them kill my mum, leave me be!" It was a sob, though Draco fought madly to keep tears from taking over. And the assistant led him to a spare bed - disgustingly common, the proper Malfoy within groused - but Draco said nothing about it. He collapsed onto the bed, hiding his face from onlookers in the pillow. The image of his mother, kneeling, blood on her robes, was frozen in his mind's eye. He finally slipped into the oblivion of sleep hours later, watched with fear and apprehension by the others on the Bus.

When Draco woke, the sun was high in the sky. The room was unfamiliar - neither his room at home nor the dormitory of Hogwarts. And it smelled. Cursing as he realized where he was, he jumped to his feet and hurried to the front of the Knight Bus. "Driver, what time is it? Why didn't you wake me?"

The driver yawned rudely. "Well, mate, you asked for Hogwarts, but we can' just pop over there cause of the wards. Seein' as you was bein' chased and been through all that, I decided to jus let ya sleep it off. It's the first a' September, so you don't need to be up at the school it... well, a whole two hours from now!"

Draco stared at the driver blankly. "You let me sleep until late afternoon?" Lucius never let him sleep past daybreak. "Well... how close to Hogwarts can you leave me? I'd rather like to reach it before the others."

"Edge of Hogsmeade. Can't get no closer, seein' how Dumbledore's extended the anti-Apparition fields. Hold on and we'll be there." And with a pop, they were. The tarnished sign proclaiming the town to be Hogsmeade filled Draco with a sense of relief. Though Death Eaters might be following, he could be safe now. And he even had enough time to catch a butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks first.

With a curt nod to the driver - as close to a thank you as any Malfoy got - he ambled down the streets without a care, stopped by a little salon to have his hair fixed, ordered a butterbeer from a suspicious Madame Rosmerta, and lounged near the front window. Sipping the cold brew, he tried to block out the memory of the blood on his mother's collar.

Perhaps had he been more attentive, he would've heard the scream of someone outside or seen several witches running past the window in terror. As it was, he looked out the window of the Three Broomsticks just as a masked Death Eater looked in.

Both started and Draco belted out a cry of alarm. The other patrons soon joined him with screams, but Draco wasn't there to notice. He turned and dashed for the back door, well aware of the Death Eater hurrying through the front room to catch him up. The castle suddenly seemed much farther away. Draco ran.

He had taken off around the lake separating the castle from the town rather than heading up the exposed road to the school. The forest side, while as foreboding as its name suggested, was covered against aerial pursuit and unknown to the Death Eaters trailing him. Thus, it was through the Forbidden Forest that Draco was making his path.

However, the forest was unknown to Draco, too. Lost, he'd wandered frantically as the sun dipped toward the horizon. The depths of the forest on a full moon were perilous indeed.

To make matters worse, his pursuers were still out in the forest on his trail. He'd slowed for a short respite earlier, only to find that his halt had given the masked men plenty of time to catch up. He'd ducked and dodged curses and barely made it away in one piece. Every once in a while, the sound of voices would become loud enough to make out, suggesting the Draco's escape had reached the top of the list of Voldemort's important things to fix. Perhaps Lucius' blood had been useless and only Draco's could complete the specific spell, or maybe the mere fact that someone had escaped the clutches and designs of the Dark Lord had driven the man mad - madder - with fury for revenge. However, whatever the cause of the frantic chase, Draco fled not only to preserve his own life, but the very life of the Malfoy name. And that, to the heir of such a legacy, was a truly sacred duty.

With a glance behind himself, Draco lost his footing and tripped over a series of gnarled roots spread across the ground. Pulling himself up to his knees, he took a furtive look around. The clearing was familiar. It had been years since he'd been there, but a memory of a desperate detention search for a dead unicorn flashed into his mind. Four long years earlier, with the detestable Potter, Granger, and Longbottom, he'd seen this very grove.

He leapt to his feet and spun about, getting his bearings. As he headed toward the school, or at least in the direction which he remembered from following Hagrid, he heard voices raised in the foliage behind him. Holding down a yelp of shock, he ran.

His footsteps seemed to echo eerily in the darkness of the forest. Alerted to his presence, the voices grew closer until Draco could make out bits of their conversation. "-move around to cut him off-"

"Quick, Avery, take the trail to the side -"

"-but I thought there was an anti-Apparition field! How did he manage to catch us up?"

The 'he' could only be referring to one man - Voldemort. Muffling a moan of fear, Draco turned for a moment to gauge the progress of the men pursuing him. When he turned back to the path ahead, he stopped short. Hooded and bent so low with age that he was barely taller than the masked and silver-handed servant at his side stood Voldemort. "Ahh, young Malfoy... so glad you could join us."

Draco spun on his heel, making a beeline for the trees. Before he made it out of wand-sight, however, the laughing voice of Lord Voldemort filled the air. "We'll have none of that, Malfoy. Don't worry... I'll make it swift. _Imperio_."

The familiar feeling of peace filled his tired body, and Draco couldn't fight. "Come, boy, kneel before me... and it will be all over."

All over... Voldemort was saying something else, but the haze of Imperius blocked it out. Draco hadn't been able to overcome the curse the year before, when the horrible Professor Moody had tested it on the entire class of Slytherins, but fear of death and a sudden glint of light on metal caught his attention and helped him to wrench his thoughts away from the comfortable acceptance of orders.

He found himself, miraculously, aware of everything that was happening. A cloaked figure was hunched beside elderly Voldemort, a hand of shining silver the metal that had caught his eye. Draco waited, trying not to be sick as Voldemort reached over and petted his head as if he were a lap dog, finally springing when the old man turned aside.

The boy's block sent the ornate dagger in Voldemort's hand flying across the glade. Before the Dark Lord could recover or reach for his wand, Draco sent a punch flying into his face, knocking the robed figure into a crumple on the ground.

The cringing servant advanced, but his hesitation and surprise gave Draco the extra moment he required to dash for the castle, visible through the trees behind the hooded man's head. Draco tripped him on his way past, slipping away from grasping hands and not bothering to glance back to ascertain the condition of his captors.

Draco ran toward the edge of the Forest and toward the protections that his school offered. Voldemort, in his weakened elderly form, wouldn't dare to threaten Hogwarts - no, Potter was still alive, and Draco doubted the Dark Lord even had the strength to kill him, anymore.

Finally, he passed the last trees. Draco added an extra burst of speed as he passed Hagrid the gamekeeper's rundown hut. Voldemort's shriek of anger had died away, but his earlier surprise in Hogsmeade warned him against being lax. Taking the fastest route across the campus, Draco threw the great door open himself rather than ringing for the house-elves. The doors of the Great Hall were opened still, and at the end of the hall a small group of first years was visible, clustered around the Sorting Hat. Professor McGonagall, however, was crouched beside the Gryffindor table, where Harry Potter was visible, lying on the ground for some odd reason.

Draco could care less. As he ran down the aisle separating the Gryffindor table from the Ravenclaw one, he remembered another time someone had done this - Quirrell, with the stories of the troll. Panting, Draco came to a halt past Potter but still several feet from the teachers. His eyes were fixated on Dumbledore at the Head Table, but his knees shaking too hard to continue. Snape was near the Headmaster, looking worried.

Unable to remain on his feet, Draco collapsed to his knees, gasping loudly for air. "Death Eaters," he called, hunched over with the pain of a side cramp. "In the forest. Voldemort's with them."

A gasp of shock ran throughout the room. Draco raised his head slowly, making eye contact with the Headmaster. The old man gave a solemn nod and Draco, reassured that his message had been taken as truth, toppled forward in exhaustion.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the form of Professor Snape launching over the Head Table. If he hadn't been so starved for air, he would've laughed at the ridiculous sight. Snape was certainly making a big deal out of nothing - the Death Eaters wouldn't dare attack the school.

But then Draco realized his Head of House's target. He was, rather embarrassingly, swept up into the dark man's arms and cradled like a child. Draco started to protest, but the words changed before he had a chance to speak them. "Professor - my mum, You-Know-Who - she's dead, Professor -"

For one brief moment, Draco entertained the thought that Snape was about to cry. Instead, however, his godfather stroked his hair softly. "I know, Draco. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry..."

Everything faded into exhaustion. Finally safe, Draco fell unconscious.

A/N2: There seems to be some question as to my origins, from reviewers on both this and my other work (yes, that's a shameless plug), so I've decided to let the secret out: I'm an American living in London. I've been acculturated enough to pick up bits of slang, I have to use British grammar and spelling in papers at my uni, and I know my way around the city better than quite a few natives I've met, thanks to the joys of the Tube strike! So, if my metaphors seem a bit mixed, there's my excuse: I'm confused! And to the rude worker at London Stansted who sold me my Express ticket (begin rant) I may have an American accent, but that doesn't mean that I'm an idiot! I live in London, I know the Tube system like the back of my hand, I simply didn't remember which line Tottenham Hale was on! Don't assume that my accent makes me ignorant (end rant). Note that the chapters will remain around this length - fairly short, running an average of 5-7 pgs for parts 1 and 3, 6-10 pages for part 2, and part 4 is yet to be written. Let me know what you think - or share your nightmarish Tube strike stories! I'd love to hear them!

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	4. Revelations

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**Title:** Our Fathers (03)  
**Author name:** Indarae  
**Author email:** hornbach@grinnell.edu  
**Category:** Drama  
**Sub Category:** Angst  
**Keywords:** Ron Harry Draco Voldemort Year-Five  
**Rating:** PG  
**Spoilers:** SS/PS, CoS, PoA, GoF, FB, QTTA  
**Summary:** Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Draco Malfoy – three boys coming of age in a world of terror face off against an uncertain future. A father dies, a father tells his story, and a father is made human against the backdrop of Voldemort's second rise to power and a mysterious discovery hidden in the history of Hogwarts itself.  
**DISCLAIMER:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.   
**Author notes:** I like this chapter. I like it quite a bit. If I hadn't been running with a sort-of theme (all sections but "Traitor's Heart" have a very firm one – this one is just an arc of plot connection) I'd have called it 'The Chapter where Draco crashes and burns.' Or maybe, 'The Chapter where Draco Finally Gets What's Coming to Him.' I like the bloke, I really do... but he needs to be kicked in the bum. Well, go on, let me know what you think – and I'm still looking for Tube Strike stories! C'mon, Londoners, jump up and give them!  


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Chapter Three - Revelations

Draco couldn't have been unconscious for long, as the sky outside the windows of the Hospital Wing was still slightly pink with the setting of the sun. He was immediately aware of the presence of others in the room and glanced around from beneath hooded lids surreptitiously. Snape was hunched in a chair by his side, the worried expression on his face more emotion than he'd exhibited in the long years Draco had known the Potions Master. Madame Pomfrey was bustling about and the other Heads of House - McGonagall, Sprout, and Flitwick - were gathered around the Headmaster at the foot of the boy's bed. None seemed to notice Potter watching from nearby.

"I'm really not sure where to place him. As he's the enemy of many of his fellows, remaining in his dorm may not be the best option," Dumbledore was saying.

"His mind is keen enough," squeaked little Flitwick. "I would gladly take him on in Ravenclaw if Slytherin proves to be too much a danger."

Snape snarled darkly. "Slytherin is not a danger, it's the children of the Death Eaters who are. I'll remind you, Filius, there are several in YOUR House who are a danger, as well."

"Yes, but not so many as in Slytherin!" McGonagall countered. "The Ravenclaws who are at high risk can be counted on the fingers of one hand, Severus! Your House is notorious for them - do you really think it's safe to leave him there?"

Before Snape could jump to his feet, Dumbledore frowned at McGonagall and Flitwick. "This isn't the time for arguing over House loyalties. If a definite problem is found, we'll deal with it as it comes. I'll not uproot him and throw him into a House where he'll not belong, not yet. And if the time comes, the Sorting Hat will have another go at him. I know it's not normal procedure, but he's suffered the most terrible loss any child could be forced to face - the loss of not just both of his parents but of everything he was taught to believe in. Do you think pulling him from Slytherin and putting him in a den of lions - no offense, dear Minerva - is really the best of ideas?" The loss of both parents...? No, his father was alive... his father would get away, and he'd be safe... he'd promised... but they seemed to know that Lucius was dead...

"I am the Head of Slytherin House, Albus, and as he's a Slytherin and I'm his legal guardian with the loss of his parents, he is my responsibility. No one in Slytherin will turn him over to Voldemort - not when I have control of them. He's a Slytherin! Do you think the Sorting Hat would've put him anywhere else? It's in his blood!" Snape snarled, moving around in his seat uncomfortably.

Dumbledore crossed the room and patted Snape's shoulder, though the man flinched away visibly. "Severus... of course you're right. You know him better than any of us, of course. But really... we all change and grow as we age. Do you think the Sorting Hat would put you in Slytherin now? After all you've been through? If - and only if - he is in very grave danger, the option remains. If the time comes, will you consent to it?"

"Only if he does," Snape snarled. He shot a glare in McGonagall's direction and turned away from the others. "He needs to rest. I'll be here, for when he awakens. He'll need someone to comfort him, I'm sure."

"Indeed, he will. Shall we?" Dumbledore stepped away from Snape, gesturing for the rest of the teacher to follow. Draco closed his eyes completely, feigning sleep and hoping that Snape would leave as well. There was much to think about - particularly the dangers of his own House.

After a few minutes, however, he felt a hand resting on his shoulder. "You can stop pretending, Draco. You're breathing far too quickly to be asleep."

Draco scowled and opened his eyes. "I'd rather like to be alone, you know. The orphan and everything."

"Draco..." Snape let out a sigh and slumped back into his chair, a tired expression flitting across his face. "You've gone through a lot. It would be beneficial for you to talk to someone about it. I may not be the most... comforting of individuals, but I am nonetheless your Head of House."

"How did you know?" Draco demanded.

A dark eyebrow flickered up in confusion. "Know what in particular? With your mother dead -"

"In the Great Hall, when I came in," he explained. "You said you knew she was dead. How did you know?"

"Potter. It turns out that Dumbledore's pride and joy is a Seer, to add to his list of peculiarities. He had a particularly serious seizure last night at the Weasley household and was rushed here for treatment." Snape halted for a moment, appearing slightly hesitant to continue. "What he Saw was your mother's execution and your escape, just tonight. And your father being tortured."

The breath caught in Draco's throat and he pushed himself up from the bed. "You mean, father's alive? I'm not an orphan? He's alive?"

"Draco -" Snape grabbed his shoulders and firmly nudged him back to his seat. "Draco, your father is being held by Lord Voldemort. There is no spy in a position to rescue him, no Auror willing to risk life and limb to save a Death Eater, and I... I'm useless in this mess. Only Potter's visions give any insight into the situation. No one can save your father from the hole he's dug himself into."

And Draco's dash of hope melted. "What's to happen to me?" he asked listlessly. His gaze locked on Potter, lying unconscious on a bed across the room. He was practically an orphan then. Just like Potter. He suppressed a sudden surge of jealousy for the other boy - the spotlight always focused on the golden boy, the friends and surrogate family that surrounded him at every bad turn. And then there was Draco, the other boy who survived. The Boy Who Lived and the Boy Who Had Nothing. "Mum's brother was a Death Eater. Aunt Ophelia is still in Azkaban. Those are my closest relatives," he murmured.

"I'm still your godfather," Snape replied, snapping Draco from his reverie. The professor gave a strangled smile. "I was probably not the best choice for the position, but your parents never really believed I'd be called upon for this. After all, I'm not really suitable parenting material, am I."

There was an uncomfortable silence for a moment, until Draco forced himself to speak. "I don't know. You can't be much worse at it that my father."

Snape gave a snort, though whether in amusement or annoyance, Draco was unsure. "You'll certainly see more of me, as you'll no doubt be confined to Hogwarts grounds. You are in a terrible amount of danger, Draco, perhaps even more danger than this ex-Death Eater." He gave a sigh, rubbing his temples with a wince. "Your death and your blood can restore Voldemort to his youth. He'd have the power of his teenaged years once more, and the ability to easily blend instantly into society, both wizarding and Muggle. He'd be nearly invincible..."

"... while right now, he's a frail old man," Draco finished, giving a frown at Snape's nod of affirmation. He stared down at his hands; at the veins through which ran the possibility of defeat. All of a sudden, he knew exactly how it felt to be Harry Potter. He never wanted to be.

Professor Snape patted his shoulder again. "I'll be going for a few moments. There are some potions texts that were sent to me to peruse. I can look at them just as well here."

"But I don't need -" Draco began.

"Yes, you do," Snape cut him off. "You certainly do need someone here with you. It's my job and duty. I'll return in a few minutes."

Draco sunk down against his sheets. A duty. He rolled onto his side and tried to forget that he'd just stopped being someone's son and begun, for the rest of his life, to just be a job.

He supposed he must have fallen asleep, as what seemed like moments later, a low voice brought him awake. With a grunt, he forced his eyes open and peered around the room. Snape was back, he noticed, dozing off in the chair beside his bed with a stack of papers on his lap. Across the room, however, Granger was bent over Potter's bed, shaking the boy awake.

Granger raised a finger to her lips. "Don't be loud," she whispered, "You don't want to wake Professor Snape. Will you tell me what's going on now? Ron and I are so worried."

"I'll do the best I can," Potter whispered back, pushing to a sitting position. "When I collapsed at dinner - it was another vision. It was Malfoy, getting the Imperius used on him by Voldemort. He overcame it, just like we learned in Defense last year, and - get this - he punched Voldemort in the face!"

"The slimy Slytherin... punched the Dark Lord?" Granger stared at Potter, and Draco quickly feigned sleep as he felt her eyes stray to his side of the room. "If the situation wasn't so dire, I'd laugh."

"It's not funny at all," Potter countered. "He very nearly died. His mum's dead, and his father's still in Voldemort's hands."

He heard Granger sigh loudly. "It doesn't make sense at all. He's a pureblood and all - he's reminded us of it often enough. Why kill the Malfoys when there are plenty of Muggle-borns like myself to target?" Draco risked peeking beneath his lids to catch her expression on saying that. She looked angry - as angry as the time she'd slapped him in Hogsmeade. He concentrated on staying very still and pretending to sleep.

"That's what Professor Dumbledore was telling me, after we came here from the Weasleys'. A few weeks ago, he said, there were several books stolen from the Ministry. Not all of them seem important, but one of them was a scroll telling about a spell that required Veela blood to turn the one casting the spell back to health. Professor Dumbledore thinks that's why the Malfoys were targeted - they're not REALLY pureblooded, because both his parents are part Veela. That, and Voldemort thought they were working against him. I saw it in a vision."

Draco let out an indignant snort at the insinuation of a tarnished bloodline - some things were more important than intelligence about the enemy, after all. "For your information, Potter, a good number of wizarding lines include Veela blood. I doubt YOUR family had a Veela ancestress less than a dozen generations back."

Potter and Granger whipped around, staring over at him in shock. Finally, the Mudblood spoke first. "Malfoy - how long have you been listening?"

"I've been awake since you came in and started talking loud enough to wake the dead. Honestly, Granger, you could give a bit of foresight to things - this is an Infirmary, after all. People tend to be resting here. I thought you were supposed to be the bright one."

Potter launched out of his bed and Granger grabbed hold of his shoulder, restraining him. With a smirk, Draco stretched languidly and sunk back against the pillows. "Now then, if you have anything to say about my family, it's certainly my business. What else did Dumbledore say?"

"Why should I tell you?" Potter countered.

Draco started laughing, unable to believe the ridiculous amount of stupidity his counterpart was displaying. "Do you think I'm going to use it against you or something? Honestly, Potter, we're on the same side - whether you like it or not. I'm not likely to offer my neck to Voldemort just to spite you. I've grown rather attached to it."

Potter fumed and Draco, loving every moment of it, offered back another smirk. Finally, the Gryffindor boy gave up and released the rest of the information. "There were four books stolen. Two have to do with the Veela spell, he said. The others don't make much sense in the whole context of it - an Egyptian one full of various protection and mind altering spells and a book of poetry."

"Poetry?" Draco gave a snort. "From what I've seen of the Dark Lord, he doesn't seem the type. It obviously contains extra information. Why don't you send your little Mudblood girlfriend to look read them? I'm tired and she's disturbing my peace."

"And you are all disturbing mine," a low voice snapped from Draco's bedside. He glanced over and, with a wince, finally noticed Snape glaring over the top of a stack of books. "This is an infirmary, not a common room. Granger will leave, and the two of you will be silent."

Out of the corner of his eye, Draco saw Granger make a mad dash for the door. "Professor Snape, I'm sorry I woke -"

"I was not sleeping," Snape growled back. He snapped open the book on his lap and, giving a final glare in Potter's direction over the top of the spine, began reading.

Draco rolled over to face the empty side of the infirmary, wishing desperately to have his mother by his side to comfort him, or his father free to take him from that place. All he had now was one snarky professor who couldn't care less.

Draco woke to a scream. Bolting upright in bed, his eyes locked immediately on the form of Harry Potter, across the room. His thin frame was shaking in some sort of seizure - a condition that, to Draco, immediately screamed Cruciatus Curse. But that wasn't possible - there was no one holding him under the curse -

"Draco, I'll need your help." Snape had been awakened as well, it seemed, and caught Draco's attention only when he was halfway across the room. The professor grabbed Potter's shoulders, holding the shaking body down to the bed. "Bring an extra pillow over here, would you? He might injure his skull on the headboard. He's Seeing again."

It took a moment for the information to click into place in Draco's groggy mind, but he finally launched to his feet and hurriedly collected a pillow to place behind Potter's head. If he was Seeing, he might see something important. Or he might See Lucius Malfoy.

"Potter! Snap out of it!" Snape was yelling, giving the boy's body a jerk. It didn't seem to make any difference as the Boy Who Lived thrashed around, kicking at nothing and screaming incomprehensibly.

Madame Pomfrey made an appearance, rushing from her office to glare scathingly at Snape's actions, though he ignored it. "He's having another Vision, Poppy. He's not responding to verbal commands."

"He won't," she replied, "so stop shaking him like that! Didn't I warn you the other day? Keep the pillow right there, Mr. Malfoy, and thank you for your help..." She bustled around, reaching to put a hand on Potter's forehead as Draco tried not to get kicked.

And as suddenly as it had begun, Potter stopped shaking. He gave a deafening scream as his eyes snapped open, startling Draco to the point that he jumped back to protect himself. He seemed confused, locking first onto Draco's and then Snape's faces. Hardly what he'd expected to wake to, Draco mused.

Potter blinked a few times as Snape backed away and pushed himself into a sitting position. "Malfoy, your dad - he made Voldemort furious -"

"Is he dead?" Draco whispered, fearing the answer. If he was dead, then it was over. It would be over and he'd be the last Malfoy, but at least his father wouldn't be in Voldemort's hands anymore...

"No. I think... I think he's trying to anger Voldemort enough that he'll kill him. Kill your dad, I mean. Voldemort used Cruciatus, and another I didn't recognize - your dad was making jokes about it, about how Voldemort looks old and feeble - God, I'm so sorry -" Potter choked, turning on his side and burying his face in the bedclothes.

From the shaking of his shoulders, Draco decided he was probably crying. For once, however, he kept the potential insults to himself. He turned stiffly, trying to banish the memory of his father's Cruciatus seizures, as Snape called for a Dreamless Sleep potion for Potter. Draco perched on the end of his bed and stared down at his hands.

A few moments later, he sensed, rather than saw, the presence towering over him. "Are you alright, Draco?"

"Fine," he croaked out, fighting back the images and the tears. "I'm fine, just leave me alone." And Snape did.

If Snape had been a father, however, he probably would've known that Draco was lying. Instead, he went over and perched at Potter's bedside, leaving Draco alone to fear his fate.

The majority of Slytherin House was awaiting Draco's arrival on Sunday morning, after his time in the Hospital Wing. Classes were to begin Monday, giving Draco an entire day to hide from his fellows in the hopes of maintaining some sort of dignity, one Light Wizard (by default only) among a House trained to fear the Light. He thought back to the conversation he'd overheard - perhaps taking Flitwick up on his offer of solace in Ravenclaw would help?

But no. Snape had been right. He, Draco Malfoy, Light or Dark, was a Slytherin. This is where he belonged, among the political intrigues and power plays. Burying his nose in a book just wasn't him.

And so he swept into the den of snakes like a king with Snape as attendant and marched past the glares of those he'd once called companions, and even friends. Draco hadn't a clue what information the Headmaster had announced after he'd been taken to the Infirmary, nor what any Death Eater had been told, and what had been passed on to the children of those Death Eaters. However, the gazes of those of very Dark descent were closed off and withdrawn - they knew, then, of his family's disfavor and the deaths haunting him. Several out there, Blaise Zabini for one, were intensely frightened but sending curious glances at the aristocratic front Draco was presenting - those, as Draco knew, who were not the children of the Dark.

Perhaps, in weeks to come, Blaise or Saraid, or even Graham Pritchard, the little second year, might extend a hand of friendship to another opposing the Dark in the midst of their fear, but such offers would take time. For now, Draco kept his head up. He might have gone from darkest of the Dark to a slightly tarnished beacon of Light in scarcely a week, but it didn't change his heritage or his attitude. Nor, of course, did it change the fact that most of the Slytherins hanging around in the Common Room believed his life span to now equal that of the Boy Who Lived - that is to say, non-existent.

Draco kept his face impassive as he approached the stairwell leading back to the boys' dormitories, though he heard the snide whispers from Ross Blake and the murmurs of shock from some first year whose Sorting he'd missed. The rest stood in silence as telling as any words. Draco Malfoy had just become as infamous, and as dangerous to Slytherin, as Harry Potter had ever been - Draco was the Slytherin who took the less traveled path.

As they reached the stairwell, Snape set a hand on Draco's shoulder and leaned in to whisper. "If they try anything, I'll be in my office. A number of them received letters at breakfast; many more than a usual Sunday morning owl post."

Standing tall, Draco brushed Snape's hand aside. There it was, the duty to look after him, not the wish for it. "Thank you, Professor, but I believe I can handle my own kind."

"Draco," Snape hissed, "be careful... You've just become the lone snake in a pen of raging griffins. This isn't the time to develop a Gryffindor streak of stupidity and courage." With his usual foreboding grace - and the impeccable ability to get in the last word - Snape gave a glower to Ross Blake, who happened to be nearest him, and stalked off. Draco took off up the stairs before anyone could address him.

There were no hexes awaiting him on his sheets, nor curses hanging on his clothing, though he searched the entirety of the fifth year dorm thoroughly. It was quiet. Neither Crabbe and Goyle nor Blake entered the room on his heels - which, of course, meant they were planning something. They were respectable Slytherins, after all, if a bit dull. With nothing to occupy himself, Draco rummaged around and found his timetable.

It felt nice to be doing something mundane as he examined his classes. He'd probably beat Granger in even Arithmancy, her best subject, with all the extra time he'd have to do homework, alone in his room. If, that is, his blood was still properly flowing in his veins by exam time.

When the door of the dormitory creaked open, Draco had his wand at the ready in an instant. He was expecting a stampede of Blake's minions or Voldemort himself bearing a gilded knife but, to his surprise, someone even less expected made an appearance, gliding with feline grace to perch by his side. "I thought you were ordered not to see me," Draco mused wryly. He kept his wand in hand, just in case.

Pansy gave a sigh and tossed a black envelope on his lap. "You're my ticket into the Death Eaters. The reward for bringing you intact to Lord Voldemort is immediate entrance and advancement to the Inner Circle. Ross, Vince, Greg, Davie, and most of the Quidditch team were all offered the same deal."

"Why are you telling me this?" Draco snapped. The stress of the situation was boiling to the surface, threatening to blow - and losing his control was something Draco the fugitive couldn't chance. "Are you expecting me to willingly submit to you out of affection? I'm terribly sorry, my dear Pansy, but dying really wasn't on my list of things to do -"

Pansy silenced him with a glare. "Oh, stop it. Sarcasm certainly isn't going to help this situation a bit."

"And what will? Throwing myself out a window? Hey, at least Voldemort won't be the one spilling my blood in that case -"

"Draco!" she exclaimed, eyes narrowing dangerously, "It's not funny at all. Look, I may not be allowed to get too close to you anymore, but we've been engaged practically since birth. I've known you for the entirety of my memory and I'm not about to turn you over to my parents' lord and master for something as ridiculous as a cosmetic spell!"

He gave a grin at the irony of the situation. "Voldemort, the Dark Lord, is a narcissist. And his ticket to youth is none other than the Slytherin Pretty Boy, isn't that right?"

"Lord Voldemort can rot, thank you," Pansy snapped. "And yes, that's what Ross has been going on about. I'm not turning you over, I'm just warning you to be careful around them. Maybe you shouldn't stay here..."

"And where else would I go then?" Draco returned, tossing his course schedule aside and sprawling across his bed. "They were talking about tossing me to the Ravenclaws. Pansy, can you see me as a bookworm? Can you honestly see me anywhere but this dormitory? And I'm sick and tired of people telling me to be careful when they don't mean a sodding word of it - just get out." He rolled over, putting his back to Pansy.

"Please, don't do this to yourself... sulking won't fix it."

Draco gave a derisive snort. "You think I'm trying to fix it? How long have you known me, again? I can't fix it, you can't fix it, Golden Boy Potter can't fix it, and the fuck we call a Head of House can do nothing. Did you know Voldemort is holding Father captive, and keeps torturing him? Did you know that Father is egging him on, trying to die and get put out of his misery like a dog? How am I supposed to fix any of this, damn it?!"

The bed creaked as Pansy perched on the edge, reaching over to rub his arm soothingly. "I didn't know. About your father, I mean. I always liked him, Draco... he was always so nice to me..."

"Well, he isn't dead yet," he snapped back. "I don't need your pity. Get out of here before you ruin your social standing over me. It's so Gryffindor."

Pansy leaned over to plant a kiss on Draco's cheek. "If being a Gryffindor means I can stand up for someone I care about, then sign me up for a transfer. I'd even put up with that annoying Weasel twit. Just... hang in there, alright? I'm worried, even if no one else does. Greg and Vince and Ross... they won't hesitate to offer you up, if given the chance... watch out for them..."

"I know," Draco whispered. Without a goodbye, Pansy rose and shuffled toward the door. He caught the sounds of Sunday night in the Common Room as the door creaked open, cut off as she left. Any Sunday of last year, he would've been down avoiding homework with the best of them. With the rest of them.

Draco yanked the velveteen green hangings shut and tried, valiantly, to pretend he wasn't crying, because Malfoys didn't cry.

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	5. Enmity

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Title: Our Fathers (04)  
Author name: Indarae  
Author email: hornbach@grinnell.edu  
Category: Drama  
Sub Category: Angst  
Keywords: Hogwarts Ron Harry Draco Year-Five  
Rating: PG  
Spoilers: SS/PS, CoS, PoA, GoF, FB, QTTA  
Summary: Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Draco Malfoy Ð three boys coming of age in a world of terror face off against an uncertain future. A father dies, a father tells his story, and a father is made human against the backdrop of VoldemortÕs second rise to power and a mysterious discovery hidden in the history of Hogwarts itself.  
DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.   
Author notes: And here's another chapter. I'm incredibly honoured by the reception this piece has been getting! I've really enjoyed writing it! It's in its last stage of writing at the moment - 5 chapters left - and will total about 27 in all. It's unreal! I started out intending 10. I always seem to do that, however - the next project I have in mind (there's a cookie in the cookie jar, if you can find it) is also intended as a shorter piece, but I've no doubt the story will take over. I'm really enjoying reading what you have to say! If you have questions, just put them in, I'll try to respond next note!  
  
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Chapter Four - Enmity  
  
By the end of breakfast on Monday morning, the first of classes, the tension within the ranks of Slytherin House had become almost palpable. Draco was left alone at one end of the table, a radius of untouchability seeming to extend twice his reach in any direction. He spared a glance down the table, noting that someone seemed to be missing - though he couldn't quite think of who it might be.  
  
As he looked back to his food, he noticed a number of eyes resting on him from all different corners of the Great Hall. He, of course, refused to back down under the pressure. He carried himself like a prince and sneered at anyone giving him looks of pity as if they were mere insects under his boot. It was carefully orchestrated of course - letting a Hufflepuff or Gryffindor be seen near him would crumble the foundations of possible alliances he was cementing within the dregs of Slytherin House. After all, would Blaise or Malcolm wish to been seen with a Hufflepuff-lover when their own reputations were already on shaky ground for not actively supporting the Dark Lord?  
  
One pair of eyes, however, refused to look away from his glare. Potter actually seemed to be concerned, rather than pitying, though Draco doubted the sentiments went so far as to an actual like of him. He'd been terrible to the Boy Who Lived over the years, after all, and with that pathetic Weasley at his side, who wouldn't be?  
  
As if on cue, Potter rose from his seat at the Gryffindor table and marched out the door, followed by his fan club. Draco rose to leave as well. Potions, while the class he always excelled in, was still taught by Snape, and he had the terrible feeling that guardianship wouldn't make the snarky professor any easier on him. A few steps back from Potter and his tail, Draco had the misfortune to overhear a bit of the conversation. "... yeah, and what about the git?" Weasley was asking, a puzzled expression on his face. They halted a few steps from the stairs down into the dungeons and Draco ducked behind a coat of armour to listen.  
  
"He's just like me now. Orphaned by Voldemort. And he must've made it obvious that he wasn't going to follow Voldemort to the rest of the Slytherins, otherwise they wouldn't be avoiding him. I feel... sorry for him." It was Potter. He sighed and rubbed at his scar. "He's got no friends and no family. Don't you think we should be a little nicer?"  
  
Draco's eyes narrowed. He needed no pity. He backed up sharply, turning to take another route to the dungeons to avoid the pity of Harry Bloody Potter and his gang of hangers-on.  
  
Suddenly, a thick hand clamped onto his shoulder and another covered his mouth, dragging him behind a tapestry into a corridor, which Draco didn't recognize. He kicked toward the bulkier man's legs, cursing himself for being off guard. The hand on his mouth moved to clamp his wrist and Draco found his face pushed against the stones of the wall before he could cry out for help. He squirmed, trying to fight for freedom, but his arm was wrenched painfully by his assailant.  
  
"Mighty sorry 'bout all this, Draco, but it's the only way I'll ever make the Inner Circle," a gruff voice muttered - and slipped his wand from its holster on his forearm.  
  
Draco cursed quietly, wincing against the pain. He finally realized who had been missing at breakfast - Vincent Crabbe. The hand on his shoulder moved to grip his hair cruelly, pulling his head back and slamming his face into the stones again. That would certainly bruise.  
  
He kicked at Crabbe's knee-height once more, thanking whatever deities were watching over him as his foot made contact. Crabbe let out a squeal of pain and released Draco's hair, giving him enough time to wrench his wrist away and make a mad dash for the tapestry through whence they'd come. He pushed the fabric aside, letting out a yell as Crabbe snagged the collar of his robes and yanked, choking him. Draco thought he caught sight of someone in the main hall before being pulled back into the darkness and tossed to the ground. "Lord Voldemort didn't say you had to be uninjured, anyways, just living."  
  
Draco rolled to his side, making a reach for a rock or anything to use as a weapon, but curled reflexively as Crabbe's boot met his stomach. Before he could breathe again, Vince was restraining him by sitting on his chest and hitting him across the face. There were dark spots in his vision from lack of oxygen, but then... salvation.  
  
"Mr. Crabbe, get off him!" The heavenly voice was none other than that of Professor McGonagall, formerly hated Transfiguration teacher, but if she could get the Death Eater spawn off of him, he would certainly promise to stop transfiguring her desk into an angry porcupine... and mercifully, the leaden weight of his former lackey was pried from his chest. Draco gasped madly for air, backing to the wall to try to lever himself to his feet even as the black spots swam in his vision.  
  
When he was finally able to focus again, he found himself face to face with a worried expression on the old witch's face. "Mr. Malfoy, are you alright?"  
  
"Wouldn't have been if you hadn't come around the corner just now." Draco winced - talking hurt. He brought his hand to his face, tentatively feeling out the damage. His lip was split and bleeding, his stomach ached, and he was sure he'd have a lovely black eye the next morning when he woke, but it didn't seem serious.  
  
"Would you explain what's just happened?" she demanded, sending a glower in Crabbe's direction.  
  
Vince, for his part, tried to appear innocent. As usual, it didn't work. "It wasn't nothing, Professor. I was walking along, when Draco cursed me from behind the tapestry, so I just had to defend myself -"  
  
"Bollocks," Draco replied with a snort, ignoring the professor's admonition to watch his language. "You weren't at breakfast, as half a dozen Slytherins would have to admit under Veritaserum, though I doubt anything less potent would force them to open their mouths to help me. There's a price on my head now - seems if I'm brought to Voldemort, the lucky little initiate gets a free ride to the Inner Circle, and Crabbe here decided he'd be the one to turn me in. Isn't that right?"  
  
"We'll be off to see the Headmaster then. Expulsion is probably too good for the likes of you," McGonagall spat, glaring at Crabbe and sending a comforting glance to Draco. She snagged the back of Crabbe's robe, snatching his wand from him and muttering something, which sounded to Draco like "leaving a helpless victim in a den of snakes."  
  
Draco straightened indignantly. Helpless? Certainly not. Den of snakes? "That den of snakes happens to be the place I spent the last four years. Do you really want me polluting your precious little Gryffindors with my Dark Arts knowledge and Dark tendencies?" He limped away from the wall, silently cursing the pain in his leg. "Gimme my wand, Vince. I'm going to class."  
  
"Mr. Malfoy -"  
  
Crabbe offered up the wand silently and Draco snatched it away. "I'll go to the Hospital Wing after class. Can't have the evil Head of Slytherin House wondering where I am - he might lose his temper and curse a stupid Gryffindor." He spun on his heel with a visible wince and limped past the tapestry as fast as he could manage. Draco certainly wasn't going to put up with that old bat, even if the reward would be getting to watch as Dumbledore snapped Crabbe's wand to expel him. "Den of snakes, honestly," he growled, using the wall as a crutch as he hobbled toward Potions.  
  
He slammed the door open, making sure to attract all the attention he could as he stalked into the room, favoring his uninjured leg heavily. Standing as tall and proud as possible, he faced the angered expression of his guardian and the shock and horror of most of Gryffindor House. The Slytherins, of course, were smirking. "Please pardon my tardiness, sir." Rather unimaginative, yes, but what else was there to say under the circumstances?  
  
"What happened, Mr. Malfoy?" Snape glowered darkly, eyes sweeping the classroom and coming to rest on the empty chair beside Greg Goyle.  
  
"Oh, nothing too important," Draco drawled, setting his sarcasm on overwhelming. "I was just attacked by Vince Crabbe outside the Great Hall. He offered to take me off on a jaunt to see the Dark Lord, but I declined, quite graciously I thought. So he nipped my wand, kicked me around a bit with those disgusting steel-toed boots his father bought him for his birthday, and generally made a mess of me until Professor McGonagall happened along. I do believe he's being expelled at the moment."  
  
Just as intended, the room went silent. Draco caught Potter staring at him with something akin to awe and leveled a sneer in the Gryffindor's direction. Snape unfortunately noticed which seemed to snap him out of his stupor. "No points will be taken for fighting, then. Shouldn't you be seeing Madame Pomfrey for that?"  
  
"I'm growing quite fond of the dripping blood look, actually. Where shall I sit?" He locked eyes with his teacher, daring him to make the move to send Draco to the infirmary without his permission. When Snape visibly backed down, Draco glanced around to find the empty seats - only two, one beside Goyle and one -  
  
"I think that sitting beside Potter should be enough of a punishment for fighting in the halls," Snape commented snidely.  
  
Draco didn't bother to stifle his groan of annoyance as he limped over to join the Boy Who Stared Dumbly. Well, Snape might never be any sort of father figure, but he certainly knew how to punish someone for living - though really, punishment probably wasn't the reason for seating Draco beside Potter. In a choice of Potter or Goyle, harmless or plotting Draco's downfall, he was quite certain he would've chosen Potter himself. He went into a highly practiced sulk, glaring accusingly at Potter as he slid into his seat. "It's a quiz on Healing Potions," Potter snapped helpfully. And as Draco reached for his bag, "You're not allowed to use your book."  
  
Only a superior sneer was needed to send Potter looking back to his cauldron. Draco held back a sigh as he started to arrange his ingredients - he hadn't a clue how to make a viable Healing Potion. He'd spent most of the summer praying to stay alive long enough to get back to school. The Granger girl, one table in front of him, set a fire under her cauldron and tossed in a handful of lacewings, so Draco followed suit. Cheating was a time-honored tradition of Slytherin House, after all.  
  
Suddenly, Potter let out a yelp of pain and stumbled heavily against the desk. His cauldron spilled over onto the floor, splashing Weasley and Granger in the process. Draco jumped back, out of the way, as Potter's weight slammed the table forward and the Boy Who Lived fell to the ground with it.  
  
Someone screamed but was cut off quickly as silence and shock enveloped the room. Out of the corner of his eye, Draco caught Snape hurrying into his office for the emergency kit just as Potter let out a primal, chilling scream and lapsed into the same uncontrollable spasms as he had in the infirmary. Just as he had that night, Draco flashed in his mind to the many evenings he'd spent during the past summer, helping his mother care for his Cruciatus-hit father.  
  
Potter's convulsions grew worse, much worse than Draco had been witness to in the infirmary, and Draco was likely the only one who knew how to help. When Potter's head slammed against the stone of the dungeon floor, Draco didn't hesitate - he ripped off his outer robe and balled it up to serve as a makeshift pillow. One hand wrapped behind Potter's neck as he knelt down by the Gryffindor's side, to support the weight while the other rested behind his head to immobilize and keep him from harming himself further. Draco barely noticed the Slytherins looking on in shock and disgust. "Weasley, get over here and hold his arms down so he doesn't smack me," he snapped. When the redhead gave a blank stare, Draco snarled loudly. "He's having a seizure, you stupid, sodding git! Isn't he supposed to be your bloody friend?"  
  
That, of course, snapped the youngest Weasley boy into action. He practically leapt over the table to Potter's side, following orders like the good little minion that he was. Draco was able to refocus his attention on Potter's situation. He let go of Potter's head, still supporting his neck, to adjust the robe-pillow, and got a glimpse of wetness on his hand. Red. Blood. "Shit. Weasley, robes. Now."  
  
"Mr. Malfoy, language. What's happening?" Draco glanced up at the looming figure of Snape, complete with large red first aid box.  
  
"He cracked his head on the stone when the seizure got worse. We shouldn't move him without Madame Pomfrey's help, he might've broken something, sir." Draco accepted the bundle of robes presented to him distractedly and added them to those cushioning the skull of Potter.  
  
Snape gave a curt nod. "No one is to move," he announced, focusing mainly on the Slytherins. "I'll return shortly." And he was gone out the classroom door.  
  
Draco became aware of Granger crouched at his side, offering her own robes. "How do you know all of this?" she asked quietly.  
  
"One of the side effects of the Cruciatus Curse is seizures in the victim. My father ended up with a severe concussion in early July after one particularly severe session." He shrugged, suddenly feeling the eyes of his Slytherin classmates boring into him. Perhaps visiting the Infirmary wasn't such a bad idea, especially with the hexes likely to be waiting for him in the wake of Crabbe's expulsion.  
  
"Why are you helping him?" Weasley demanded, finally snapping out of his stupor. "You aren't supposed to help him, you hate him!" On second thought, he was still trapped in a world of his own devising.  
  
Draco rolled his eyes. "Honestly, Weasley, who else here actually knows what to do? You?" he sneered.  
  
The words had their intended affect - Granger looked vaguely hurt and Weasley ready to launch himself over Potter's body to strangle Draco. He caught Blaise giving him a worried glance from the corner of his eye, and nodded to himself. The plans were working.  
  
Luckily for Draco, Potter chose that moment to let out another anguished cry. Weasley dropped back to his side, looking down at his hero worriedly while Granger appeared ready to cry. Moments later, Potter went limp.  
  
Weasley yelped, hands shaking as he latched onto Potter's shoulder. "Harry! Harry, can you hear me? Oh my God, is he dead?"  
  
"Of course not," Draco snapped, restraining the urge to punch the weasel just to shut him up for a change. It seemed even his usual stupidity had hit an all time high. "The vision is just over. At least he can't hurt himself now."  
  
"Vision?" Draco glanced up in surprise at the fourth voice joining the conversation. Pansy. Though the look of confusion on her face was priceless, Draco winced internally - that was one piece of information sure to make its way to the Dark Lord.  
  
He gave an extra-derisive sneer in his ex-fiancŽe's direction. "Yes, vision. He must've caught a glimpse of your ugly face in his cauldron and collapsed, unable to function."  
  
Pansy's lower lip quavered and she shrunk back against her desk. While the information was sure to transfer through Goyle or Blake, the insult to Pansy had certainly brightened Draco's chances with Blaise. The other girl, who hated Pansy with a passion, was nearly glowing.  
  
Madame Pomfrey and Professor Snape dashed in, the nurse gasping for air after running the entire way. Taking in Potter's still form, Snape demanded, "What's happened now?"  
  
"He passed out," Draco reported with a shrug. He pushed himself to his feet, rocking unsteadily on his injured leg. "I think I should go up as well. I think Vince did something fairly nasty to my leg, now that the numbness has gone away." He gave his best whiny child face to his guardian and was rewarded with a frown. Draco took that as an affirmative and limped after Pomfrey as she levitated Potter from the room.  
  
Goyle smirked broadly as he passed by and mouthed "We know where you sleep." Rather obvious, of course, as they'd been roommates for four years, but still hinting at a massive plan to bundle him off and sneak him from the castle to the waiting knife of Voldemort. Maybe McGonagall had had the right idea after all.  
  
Half an hour after Potter's seizure, Draco crouched outside Madame Pomfrey's office, using his honed observational skills much in the same way he had to watch his parents' arguments. Potter was still passed out and plenty of whinging to Snape had assured him that he'd be spending the night in the Infirmary as well. The conversation he overheard, of course, was all about Potter.  
  
Dumbledore, McGonagall, Snape, Pomfrey and - oddly enough - Professor Lupin of his third year were crowded around Pomfrey's desk. None of Potter's relatives was to be seen. "Nothing can be done, then?" the werewolf was asking. "Dreamless Sleep isn't strong enough?"  
  
"It would be enough, were he actually sleeping. As it is, the visions have become waking as well as in sleep. He collapsed in Potions - we can only be grateful the potion he was working on was harmless." Pomfrey sighed, tapping something on the table. "There are stronger potions, of course; ones that would inhibit him receiving visions altogether -"  
  
"Well, use them, then!" Lupin snapped. "If he's in pain, stop it!"  
  
"The potion she's speaking of, while even easier to make than Dreamless Sleep, is incredibly addictive. Why do you think people pay so much for a weaker substance? Honestly, Lupin, I knew you were abominable at Potions, but if you'd bothered to pay attention instead of -"  
  
McGonagall cut Snape off with a glare. "Yes, yes, Severus, we're quite aware of the properties of the Hyupnos Draught. You needn't lecture us."  
  
Snape gave an indignant snort. "If you're so keen on using it, go ahead. It will take three, maybe four ministrations before he's dependant. Have any of you been addicted to something before? Any of you?"  
  
Draco leaned forward slightly, suddenly very glad he'd decided to listen in. Having blackmail on professors could always be useful around exam time. Surprisingly enough, however, the one who spoke next was the werewolf, though he seemed quite hesitant to do so - forgivable, considering the topic. "After James died, and Sirius - there were some clubs in London - I-I mean, it was the early 80's, after all -"  
  
"I'm sure none of us care enough to hear your dirty secrets, Lupin." Another snort from Snape. "Suffice to say, you understand what I'm talking about. Once every few weeks, I can authorize you to use it, on the worst of nights. Hyupnos will block out any sort of vision. Effective, if dangerous."  
  
"Will you authorize the treatment, Remus?" Dumbledore asked quietly.  
  
There was a long silence before the werewolf replied. "I'm hardly the one to be doing so. His guardians are his aunt and uncle, as little as I think of them. And shouldn't you be asking Sirius, rather than myself? At least Sirius is his godfather. I just knew his parents."  
  
Draco bit his cheek, trying to keep back his yelp of shock. Sirius? As in Sirius Black, the deranged madman who'd escaped Azkaban and attempted to murder Potter back in third year? But he'd been working for Voldemort - and he'd murdered a dozen people, including his best friends - ! "Remus, Sirius didn't tell you this, because he knew you'd object," Dumbledore was saying, "but when he was last here, he named you a secondary guardian, should anything happen to him. As he's unable to be contacted, and as those Muggle relatives replied to my owl with a rather rude letter about where I should place my wand, you are certainly the one with the authority to allow it."  
  
"If something happens to those Muggles, Albus, you can't seriously be considering having me be his guardian. I'm a werewolf! It'd be dangerous to him, not to mention bloody illegal! According to the Ministry, I'm a beast, not a being!" Lupin snapped, banging his fist loudly against the table.  
  
"If you keep denting furniture like that, I'll have to agree with them," Snape added snidely.  
  
"Now, now, Severus," Dumbledore put in, "we all know those laws are the remnant of a bygone era, thanks to the Wolfsbane Potion. When the next Minister is installed, a man hopefully more freethinking than Cornelius Fudge, I have every intention of suggesting they be repealed."  
  
"Well, Fudge is our main problem," McGonagall shot in. "We have enough support - I still believe the best action would be to depose him. If you took over, Albus -"  
  
Dumbledore shook his head. "Minerva, dear, adding more factions to a crumbling society will do nothing but play in the Dark Lord's favor. There are any number of wizards and witches who are none too fond of me - if we take over, there will inevitably be a counter-coup; the perfect moment for Voldemort to swoop in and destroy us all. Besides..." Draco could hear Dumbledore's voice growing even more somber. "Besides, Minerva, I am old. I have been Headmaster for forty years. The only one at this table who was alive when I began teaching was Poppy, and she would've been only an infant. When I went to school here, Muggle-born students were not allowed, the Snapes were wealthier than the Malfoys, and Queen Victoria was in her prime. I'm old, worn, stretched thin... don't misunderstand me, I will see this conflict through to its conclusion barring any unforeseen circumstances, but afterwards I fully intend to retire to a nice little cottage that has been waiting for me in the south of France since before Grindelwald threatened Europe. I have no wish to ever be Minister of Magic." There was a short but heavy silence until the Headmaster pressed on. "Now, then - we'll need to discuss provisionary plans for Harry's care in a few moments anyways, but we first need to make a final decision on his treatment. Poppy? The floor is yours, my dear."  
  
"I was born in the fifth year of your tenure, Albus," she snipped, giving an indignant sniff. "Harry Potter, however, is suffering rather serious side-effects from the visions. I decided not to consult Sibyl on the whole manner, as I believe she's quite mad," Pomfrey paused, and Draco could see her glaring at Dumbledore in his mind's eye, though his view was blocked. "I did some research on it myself. It appears he's not a natural Seer. That ability likely manifested as a result of the curse in 1981. The curse causes him to continue to feel the spells You-Know-Who casts on his victims, as Harry himself was a victim. The sharing of blood at the end of last term may've been the catalyst event for the victim connection. The reaction itself is sharpest when the Cruciatus Curse is used, according to the accounts he's given of the visions, but responses to all actions seem to be worsening. He's developing a bruise on his face and another on his arm, though there appears to be no physical reason for it. I believe that You-Know-Who was beating Lucius Malfoy at the time of the last vision, and Harry's bruises parallel Lucius' - though, of course, without examining Lucius, I have no way of supporting the theory."  
  
Draco hissed softly. The staff seemed not to be bothered by the fact that his father was being tortured - how could they call themselves the Light, leaving a man to die like that? He barely heard Snape's response, though it only convinced him further of the staff's apathy - his own guardian's apathy. "And how will Potter be affected when Lord Voldemort kills Lucius?" Not if. When. No hope. Like an experiment.  
  
"I don't know," Poppy replied frankly, giving a loud sigh. "If Potter is immune to Voldemort's Killing Curse, as Albus thinks, it would do nothing. If he is not... he'll die."  
  
"Then use the damned potion," Lupin snapped. "If it'll save him, any dependency is worth it!"  
  
There was a short commotion before Dumbledore's soft voice broke through the arguments. "Hyupnos may not block the affects; only the visions themselves. Harry may continue to develop bruises when Voldemort hits someone or break into a seizure when he uses Cruciatus... we have no way of knowing. Due to its addictive side-effect, little research has been done on the potion since its invention."  
  
"But it might help?" Lupin sighed. "If it will help at all... I can't lose him, Albus. Sirius can't lose him. He's all that's left of James. It would kill him."  
  
"Then Hyupnos it is... in small doses, and not every night. Severus, would you brew the first dose after we are done here?" Snape must've nodded, as Dumbledore continued. "Now, then... a reserve plan for Harry's care, should something happen to his relatives. James' closest living relative, his cousin, died in one of the attacks this past summer. Henry Ross was the last blood relative with a close enough relationship to use the wards that are currently on the Dursley home. However, Voldemort has Harry's blood - those wards are no longer of any use."  
  
McGonagall cleared her throat. "If that's the case, Albus, remove Harry immediately! I know this is the umpteenth time I've mentioned it, but even if they aren't physically abusing him, they are starving him. You can see as well as I how thin he is. James was stocky and taller than I by his fifth year, and Lily wasn't petite. Harry barely reaches above my shoulder, he's skin and bones -"  
  
"Minerva... that was the best place for him. I still believe that -"  
  
"You're not sending him back." Draco held his breath, caught up in the conversation. Oddly enough, that had sounded like Snape's voice - didn't Snape hate Potter? "If you want to lose him to the Dark, Albus, that's the way to do it," he continued. "If you send him back, you'll drive him to hate you for leaving him there, hate Black for not rescuing him, hate Muggles for treating him badly, and hate his parents for leaving him when they died. It isn't healthy for him and it's certainly not in his best interest, despite what you say. Lily would have my head if she knew I was going along with this."  
  
Dumbledore's reply was very quiet, almost inaudible. "Where do you suggest he go, then, Severus? To live with you? As I recall, the Snape line and the Potter line intersect more than once - you may have more of a blood tie than many others -"  
  
"Of course not!" Snape snapped - much more in character, Draco thought to himself. "I've already got one adolescent under my care, I'm certainly not volunteering for another. Or have you forgotten about Draco? They'd tear each other apart!" Draco hunched down next to the door, hugging his knees to his chest in sudden revelation and shock. His godfather didn't want him. I've already got one adolescent under my care; I'm certainly not volunteering for another.   
  
The voices still drifted from the office, though they were no longer as interesting. "Of course I remember, Severus," Dumbledore continued, "but if you're concerned about his care, you must have a suggestion."  
  
"The Weasleys," Lupin shot in. "They're practically his family already. Molly came to watch the Third Task last term, you told me..."  
  
"They can't afford an eighth child," McGonagall countered, "they can barely afford the seven they have, even with two out of the house! And they certainly won't accept Harry's money to help them, they're too proud."  
  
"I will continue to look into it," Dumbledore finished. "I can't think of a better place than his family, but I will try. Remus, you have a dose of Wolfsbane Potion to take, don't you..."  
  
Draco scurried over to his bed, managing to crawl in before the first professor left the meeting. He squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for Snape to come and check on him again, hoping to bring up the subject of his father and his future and his life... but no one did.  
  
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	6. Courage

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**Title:** Our Fathers (05)  
**Author name:** [Indarae][4]  
**Author email:** [hornbach@grinnell.edu][5]  
**Category:** Drama  
**Sub Category:** Angst  
**Keywords:** Voldemort Harry Ron Draco Year-Five  
**Rating:** PG  
**Spoilers:** SS/PS, CoS, PoA, GoF, FB, QTTA  
**Summary:** Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Draco Malfoy – three boys coming of age in a world of terror face off against an uncertain future. A father dies, a father tells his story, and a father is made human against the backdrop of Voldemort's second rise to power and a mysterious discovery hidden in the history of Hogwarts itself.  
**DISCLAIMER:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.   
**Author notes:** Yay, posting's back up! I've spent the weekend working on the fic and ignoring term papers (go me..?). And now, Harry Potter is springing up around London! I was walking through Tottenham Court Rd. Station this morning to find a very large poster of the Quidditch game arching above my head as I stood on the escalator. And Harry's face is on the side of a bus - one of the big, doubledecker red ones. The premiere's on Sunday (don't expect an update early next week. I'm going!) so hang in there... we're on the home stretch!  
Now for fic...  


~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  


Chapter Five - Courage

Draco didn't sleep, despite the fact he'd be expected to attend classes the next day. Instead, he sat awake, staring out over the grounds silently. From the window, he could see the end of the Quidditch pitch, the fifty-foot-tall hoops shining under the bright light of the full moon - a place he'd certainly never show his talents again. He'd gotten one of the Beaters expelled, after all, and even if he was a fairly good Seeker, he was no Harry Potter.

Harry Bloody Potter, surrounded by gifts and get well cards from his friends and admirers... and Draco Malfoy, with nothing. Not even Snape, the man his parents chose to take their place in an emergency, had come to check up on him. Crabbe had broken two of his ribs, too - Potter just had some stupid phantom bruise.

"Um... Malfoy? Sorry I landed you in here, too. Did the cauldron explode on you?" Draco jerked around at the voice, sent into a defensive posture by his surprise. Potter's eyes were locked on him from across the room, and Draco straightened up immediately. No use showing fear in front of ones enemy.

"You didn't put me in here, Crabbe did," Draco snapped, trying to cover up his discomfiture. "Don't you bloody remember? Or has the scar addled your brains, too?"

It was purely defensive, falling back on the insults and sarcasm, but as Potter rolled his eyes in disgust and started to turn away, something unexpected stole over Draco - regret. Or maybe it was just loneliness. "Wait -" Draco stuttered, leaning forward to try to catch Potter's attention. "I didn't mean - well, I saved your sorry arse in Potions today. With that and getting Crabbe expelled, Slytherin House is probably the last place I should be, with my guard down."

The moment it was past his lips, Draco regretted saying anything at all. Potter's eyes narrowed and he fumbled for his glasses, settling them on his nose before giving Draco a searching glance. "You helped me? What happened?"

"You had a seizure. Knocked your cauldron on the floor, pushed the table over, cracked your head open on the floor - guess what, Potter, you bleed red just like everybody else." Another twinge of guilt as Potter frowned. "But - yeah, I know what to do about seizures... so I kept you from hurting yourself while Snape got Pomfrey."

"Thank you," Potter whispered.

Draco stopped cold. Potter thanked him. "Yeah. Well, no one else knew what to do. So... was it about my father?" He knew he looked pleading, but some things were more important than pride. Potter looked back blankly. "The vision. My father. The reason there's a half-completed Healing Potion pooling on the dungeon floor?" he prompted.

Potter rubbed his eyes tiredly. "The vision... yeah, it was about your father. Um... they were in a dungeon or a prison of some sort, with a tarnished silver 'H' on the wall... maybe it wasn't an 'H,' I could hardly see it. And Wormtail was there too, with Voldemort."

"Worm-who?" Draco stared blankly back.

"Wormtail. He has a silver hand... Peter Pettigrew is his real name..."

Draco gave a snort of laughter unintentionally. "Yes, there's a Death Eater with a silver hand - bloody wimp, I punched him and he fell over - but his name certainly can't be Pettigrew. I thought you knew all about '81 - Sirius Black killed Pettigrew, everyone knows that!"

Potter looked incredibly hesitant, as if debating whether or not to divulge particularly sensitive information. "Look, Malfoy..." he began, drawing his knees up to his chest, "Pettigrew isn't dead. Pettigrew was my parents' Secret Keeper, not Sirius."

Everything suddenly clicked. "No way. I don't... but even Father thought Black was a Death Eater... but that's right, Black never got a trial, and the brand on the arm isn't exactly common knowledge..."

"Sirius is innocent. He's hiding or something, I think only Dumbledore knows where. He was in charge of getting back together the Aurors who fought with him back before my parents died. He's my godfather - I'm going to go live with him when Pettigrew is caught." A smile appeared on Potter's face, though he winced and touched the spectacularly coloured bruise on his cheek. "Ow... did I hit my face on the table?"

"What happened to my father, Potter?" The Gryffindor's mind seemed to be wandering a lot - maybe a concussion? Or just stupidity?

Potter frowned, appearing to concentrate on something fleeting. "Umm... Voldemort used Cruciatus on Wormtail to punish him for letting you get away in the forest. Then your dad taunted him - Voldemort, that is - about being so old. He got a Cruciatus to shut him up, but he kept taunting him until Voldemort lost his temper and started hitting your dad. In the face, and the arm - and wait, why are my bruises in the same places -"

"Madame Pomfrey said something about your scar connecting you to the victims. I listened in at the keyhole," Draco admitted without a bit of guilt. "Professor Lupin was there. They asked him if they could use some strong potion on you. Oh, and McGonagall got all snippy with Dumbledore about your aunt and uncle. Snape said they'd make you into the next Voldemort, but... sorry, Potter, I just can't see you with the glowing eyes and the murdering and all."

"Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon make me into the next Dark Lord?" Potter smirked, then burst out laughing. "They're lousy relatives... but make me evil...? That's just too much..." Potter rubbed at his bruised face, still snickering. "Ow, my cheek..."

"Well, at least you have relatives to take you in. Mine are dead or in Azkaban. Sure makes for a cheerful family reunion." Draco straightened the sheets, making to turn over in order to keep from meeting Potter's eyes.

"Draco...?" He couldn't help himself. It was probably the first time Potter had addressed him by his first name. He glanced over in shock, meeting eyes filled with pity. "Draco, I'm sorry about your family - about your mum and dad. I really am. I know what it's like, to not have parents."

He couldn't stand pity and - "My father isn't dead, damnit! You don't know a fucking thing, Potter. You don't even remember your parents - I watched that sodding bastard slit my mother's throat!" Potter looked taken aback by Draco's sudden burst of temper and ready to throw a comment in, but Draco rushed on, filled with the sudden urge to pull Potter off his high horse. A cruel smirk plastered itself into place almost without thought. "But hey, I guess we are in the same place. Snape doesn't want me... and nobody wants you, either! Dumbledore asked your aunt and uncle to come be here when you woke up, and they told him to shove it up his arse. And Lupin told everyone he wouldn't ever take you in, and the Weasleys couldn't possibly afford you! Guess being the Boy Who Lived isn't so hot after all!"

The look of shock and betrayal on Potter's face was enough to assure Draco he'd done the insult right - it had been ages since he'd gotten that sort of reaction out him. The smirk was wiped clear off his face by Potter's furious response, however. "At least my parents died fighting evil, rather than wallowing at Voldemort's feet. They had friends who wept when they died. No one's going to weep for your father, but you. No one's even going to bother to save him."

Seething, Draco restrained himself from launching to his feet and attacking Potter where he lay. It hurt - because Potter was right. No one would save him. No one could save him. No one even knew where he was.

Except for Draco.

_"They were in a dungeon or a prison of some sort, with a tarnished silver 'H' on the wall..."_

Not an 'H' - an 'M' in a curling script. The dungeon of the 800-year-old Malfoy Manor. They always went for the best... the family crest was on the wall. And no one knew the dungeons better than a Malfoy. Draco set about planning silently, waiting carefully for Potter to fall back asleep before making a break for it.

Someone would attempt to save Lucius Malfoy, even if he died trying.

Draco moved quietly through the brush, the stolen Hogwarts broomstick slung over his shoulder. The outline of Malfoy Manor glimmered through the trees of the patch of forest shielding the manor from prying Muggle eyes. To any common passerby, it would look as though the lord of the manor was hosting a party. Almost all of the lights of the many rooms of the posh home were twinkling in the near darkness, giving a cheerful feeling to a place that was normally near deserted. The manor had only three human inhabitants, plus a small army of house-elves who saw to the cleaning and maintenance of the many unused portions of the house.

Ducking behind a topiary at the edge of the gardens, Draco set aside the broomstick. There had been movement up in the manor, at one of the upstairs windows. He watched carefully as a figure paced in front of a window and disappeared. Proof, then, that someone had taken the manor - Aurors after Lucius' disappearance or Death Eaters holding him. While it was possible that the silver mark Potter had seen on the wall had indeed been an H rather than an M, it was incredibly unlikely. However, one had to be sure of the foe one faced before rushing into battle, and plan accordingly - Draco hadn't been Sorted into Slytherin purely for his good looks and impeccable pedigree, after all. He was as crafty and cunning as the next.

With a careful eye on the manor, Draco left the broom behind and slipped through the shadows of the garden path to a closer perch. His goal was the large front window of the parlour, from where he could keep a closer eye on the invaders to count their number and plan a suitably cautious entry to his ancestral home. As a Malfoy, he could conceivably enter the manor without alerting the Death Eaters, so long as he stayed out of sight - the ancient Malfoy wards protecting the validity of the Malfoy bloodline would counter any wards they'd put up.

He darted from behind a hedge to beneath the window and levered himself up to peek over the windowsill. The size of the Death Eater contingent in the parlour was worrying - it seemed that his home had been taken as the central locale of Death Eater interaction, from the sheer number of black robed individuals moving in and out of the room. Draco caught sight of MacNair, Avery, Baker, the elder Crabbe and Goyle, all the regulars... at least fifty in the one room alone.

"Headquarters of the bloody Dark Army," Draco hissed softly, backing away from the house again and stifling a yawn. He still hadn't fully recovered from Crabbe's attack - he should be sleeping in the Hospital Wing, not running about on a damned Gryffindor stunt.

He glanced up to track the movement of the moon as it traveled to set in the fall sky. It was probably nearing midnight. He'd been missing from Hogwarts for seventeen hours, though it was quite likely he hadn't been discovered gone until twelve hours ago. Search parties would be combing the Forbidden Forest, but Potter would surely be bright enough to realize what he'd gone to do. Snape himself would likely head out to cut him off. He had perhaps five hours before the fighters for the Light figured out a way to locate him right in the jaws of the enemy - only five hours to cement a plan of attack and save his father before it was too late.

Impossible.

Draco slipped back toward the garden and put several shrubberies between him and the manor. He curled up on the ground, pulling his cloak tighter, and set about devising a way to make it to the dungeons, armed with only Light magic, luck, and Malfoy blood. It was his father's only chance.

He drifted off an hour or so later with a half-formed plan in his mind, unable to stay conscious. He was still sleeping when a silver-pawed rat scampered through the garden near dawn.

Rough hands seized Draco and roused him from his sleep. He jerked from a dream, eyes snapping open in a panic only to find himself nose to nose with a balding man who was muffling his cries with a cold silver hand. "Pettigrew," Draco murmured with a start of recognition. Or, would've murmured, had his mouth not been clamped shut.

"You sh-shouldn't have left the s-school! Y-you were s-safe there! S-stupid boy, why did you get involved?" the man stammered, yanking Draco to his feet as he did so. "It w-was a waste - do you really th-think your bastard of a f-father is worth _dying_ for?"

Unable to answer, Draco growled audibly and merely glared. The tree where his stolen broomstick was stashed was barely fifty metres away. If he kicked Pettigrew in the shin hard enough, he could conceivably gain enough time to make it there. Pettigrew was still talking, though his words seemed directed toward someone other than Draco.

Taking the opportunity, Draco slammed his foot into the Death Eater's knee, scrambling to his feet as the man howled and dropped him. He started a mad dash, fumbling through his pockets for his wand so as to quiet Pettigrew and give himself a second chance to go in for his father.

The shout came from behind him. "_Expelliarmus!_" Draco found himself thrown bodily into a tree trunk as his wand was ripped from his hand. His head was spinning in pain and he fought to keep conscious. Pettigrew should still be whimpering in pain, so whom-

A masked Death Eater grabbed hold of the back of Draco's collar, choking him as he was brought to his feet. "Malfoy's brat?" the man said, turning his head to glance over his shoulder. Draco caught sight of Pettigrew crumbled to the ground, bent over his knee. "Wormtail, looks like you might survive the day after all. Lucky break... shall we present him to the Dark Lord?"

"Get your hands off of me," Draco hissed, sending his foot smashing into the man's shin and pushing him away with all his might. The Death Eater let out a yelp of pain but, instead of releasing Draco, collapsed forward, trapping him against the tree trunk. His own cry of pain was cut off as he found the man's hand wrapped around his throat, cutting off both sound and air.

"Honestly, Malfoy, you're not getting out of this one. Sorry it had to be this way, mate, but I'm glad it's not my family." Draco finally recognized his voice - David Avery, from Durmstrang, one of the candidates who hadn't been chosen as Triwizard Champion the year previous. He went limp in Avery's grasp, hoping he'd at least be allowed to breathe again.

Avery released him, raising his wand and letting Draco slump to the ground. "Wormtail," he called over his shoulder, eyes never straying from his captive, "would you stop wallowing and give me a hand? That contraption of yours should be enough to keep him from running, if you'd only watch his legs."

"I don't think that contraption of his will be of any help to you, Avery."

Draco glanced up in shock, only to find his godfather and Lupin towering over Pettigrew's trembling form, wands raised. It was Snape who had spoken, as he continued, "Just lower your wand and hand it over. I'd rather not send you crashing into a tree as you did to Mr. Malfoy, but I will if you feel like putting up some paltry fight."

"Traitor!" Avery snarled, though he did in fact toss his wand to the ground.

Snape gave a snort. "_Accio_ wand. Call me traitor all you want, but you'll be the one in Azkaban at the end of the day. And I suppose Mr. Pettigrew will be accompanying us as well, though I loathe doing anything that will aide Sirius Black... Draco, for God's sake, get up. You appear to be uninjured."

"Yes, sir," he murmured, rubbing at his throat. While the bruises were likely to rival Potter's in colour and size, the anger flashing in his guardian's eye was enough to silence any complaints. In the background, the lights of the manor twinkled on as the sun rose over the line of the trees. "Professor, we can get him out now - I know where he is, it was in Potter's -"

The professor sighed, stepping over Pettigrew to join Draco. Avery stood to the side, face hidden by the mask. "Draco... we knew he was there. We still can't get him out. It's a trap - one that you nearly sprung. I'm sorry, but there's nothing -"

Suddenly, Avery turned on Snape, yanking the wands from his hand. Both went flying across the garden, though claiming his wand didn't seem to be Avery's goal. Instead, he gave Snape another shove, sending the thin man stumbling into a tree, and dodged past Draco's tackle, making an escape toward the Manor. "Lupin -" Snape snarled.

Draco scrambled back to his feet, turning just in time to see Pettigrew's gleaming hand reach for his old professor. Gleaming silver. His werewolf DADA teacher. "Professor, Pettigrew's hand -"

Lupin let out a wolf-like howl of agony as the silver hand wrapped around his bared ankle and dropped his wand, collapsing back to the ground as a loud hiss, as of something burning, cut through the garden. Out of the corner of his eye, Draco caught sight of Snape diving for his wand but before he could do anything, the unthinkable happened - Pettigrew shrunk to the size and form of a rodent and scampered across Lupin's chest, leaving another silver-burn on the werewolf's chest with every step, and went leaping off to scurry into the garden.

Draco didn't hesitate. Scrambling to his feet, he dashed after the escaping rat, ignoring his godfather's shouts. Ready to make a grab for the Animagus, Draco made the mistake of glancing up. There, running from the house, were more than a dozen Death Eaters. Armed.

"Professor!" he shouted, turning to alert Snape and Lupin, "Professor, there are more of them!" Draco left off pursuit of the rat and jogged back to his godfather's side.

Snape was kneeling beside the fallen form of the werewolf, who seemed to be having trouble breathing. "The silver is poison to him. Damnit, I hate Apparating with more than one other person - Draco, grab my shoulder, I'll take us to Hogsmeade. We'll have to hurry up to the school."

Draco did so, taking a moment to look up at the outline of his home silouhetted against the sky. He'd failed - and it might cost Lupin his life.

And then Malfoy Manor was gone, replaced by the gates of Hogsmeade. Draco backed away from the professor and the werewolf, as Lupin was dragged to his feet and helped to toss an arm around Snape's shoulders. "Damnit... I don't think I can get up there, Severus..." the werewolf murmured, slumping forward and nearly collapsing, but for Snape's quick action.

"Draco, take his other side. Hold on, Lupin... I'm not letting that rat be your murderer as well."

Though confused, Draco ducked under Lupin's arm and helped to hold him steady. "I thought a poison had to get into the bloodstream to do anything... um, I'm sorry I ran off."

Snape shot a glare at Draco behind Lupin's bowed head. "Pettigrew clawed him. The silver touched skin and blood. He needs to get to Hogwarts, and fast. Oh, and you're grounded."

"You can't do that!" Draco snapped, glaring back. "I went to rescue my father, and you're certainly not him!"

"I'm your guardian, and you're not leaving the castle until you're forty! You'll also have a detention - with Filch, if I can convince him to put up with you - and you should be damned glad you're not to be expelled!" Snape rearranged Lupin's arm on his shoulders, visually checking to make sure he was conscious. "I told you it was impossible to get Lucius out, and I meant it."

Draco's eyes flashed in indignation. "I couldn't just leave him!"

"Oh, so walking into Voldemort's hands was a better idea? Are you a Slytherin or a Gryffindor?" Lupin coughed and frowned in Snape's direction. "Oh, don't deny it, Remus - you and Potter and Black would've charged in and gotten yourself killed."

"Could you stop arguing, please? I'm in a great deal of pain," Lupin snapped back.

The trio passed by the Three Broomsticks, and Draco gave a longing glance inside. If Snape had his way, it would be the last time he'd see it until Voldemort was dead. "Why not levitate him up to the castle? It seems more work to lug him around."

"As lycanthropy is a magical curse rather than a real disease, using magic on the results of the curse may just speed up the progress of the poison. Lupin, don't you dare faint on me, you may not wake up." Snape walked faster, nearly causing Draco to fall behind. They turned onto the path leading past the lake, past the Quidditch Pitch.

Headmaster Dumbledore himself was standing in front of the great door waiting for them. He gave Draco a searching gaze before stepping aside to allow the trio to make their way toward the Infirmary. "Severus, Remus... what happened?"

"I'm sorry we didn't wait for your okay, Headmaster, but Lupin here went in to talk to Potter about an hour ago and noticed that Draco wasn't there. He hadn't been in class today, either, and had not returned to his dormitory this morning. Potter told Lupin everything, and we decided Mr. Malfoy had forgone sane courses of action in an attempt to rescue his father. We left for Malfoy Manor immediately and found Draco about to be taken in to Lord Voldemort. Pettigrew was there - Potter was right, he has a silver hand. He clawed Lupin and escaped."

Dumbledore made a low noise and frowned. "Mr. Malfoy... what you did was foolhardy. Marching into the fortress of Lord Voldemort is hardly an action for a fifteen-year-old boy, despite the nature of his headquarters."

"I know, sir." Draco sighed, looking away. As if losing his father wasn't enough, he'd be forced to listen to rants on his actions. He did feel the need to defend himself, however. "It's just, no one was planning to rescue my father, and I knew where he was. I wasn't just going to leave him there!"

Another low sound from Dumbledore. "Mr. Malfoy... Draco, even an army of Aurors would not be able to retrieve your father before Lord Voldemort could point his wand and kill him. I am sorry for your loss. I am even more sorry that he still suffers... but there is nothing we can do. He is lost." Draco looked over and caught a slight smile breaking onto the Headmaster's face. "I must say, however - it was an action worthy of any Gryffindor."

Both Snape and Draco looked scandalized, Snape going so far as to let out a snort of indignation. "Albus, he's a Slytherin. You can't still be suggesting -"

"There's absolutely nothing wrong with being a Gryffindor. I'm quite fond of the color red, myself. Ahh, here we are - the Infirmary." The Headmaster favoured the Slytherins with a bright smile, shuffling them - and their nearly unconscious charge - over to a bed. Poppy Pomfrey came bustling out, snapping instructions at Dumbledore. Snape and Draco were promptly ignored.

Draco stepped back and turned to leave, but his godfather's hand caught him on the shoulder. "Draco... please, don't do something that daft again. I'm not always going to be able to save you." Stern black eyes bored into him, reminiscent of Potions class rather than a parental heart-to-heart.

Brushing Snape's hand away, Draco took another step back. "Maybe next time it would be better if you weren't. I wouldn't want to inconvenience you, after all." He sent a dark glare at his guardian and turned on his heel, shoving open the Infirmary door and making an escape from the Hospital Wing. Snape called after him, but Draco ignored him.

Whatever was waiting for him in the Slytherin dorms he'd face gladly. Anything would be better than another moment of Professor Snape, the man who couldn't care less if Draco died.

He'd failed.

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	7. Intellect

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**Title:** Our Fathers (06)  
**Author name:** Indarae  
**Author email:** hornbach@grinnell.edu  
**Category:** Drama  
**Sub Category:** Angst  
**Keywords:** Voldemort Draco Harry Ron Year-Five  
**Rating:** PG  
**Spoilers:** SS/PS, CoS, PoA, GoF, FB, QTTA  
**Summary:** Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Draco Malfoy – three boys coming of age in a world of terror face off against an uncertain future. A father dies, a father tells his story, and a father is made human against the backdrop of Voldemort's second rise to power and a mysterious discovery hidden in the history of Hogwarts itself.  
**DISCLAIMER:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.   
**Author notes:** Well, that was the end of part one... and here's 'Intellect', a bridge chapter between parts one and two. Each part will be buffetted by a bridge - this gives me a chance to throw in some other points of view and bring you all up to speed on what's been happening with Harry and Ron while Draco's been in control of the plot.  
  
Oh, and sometime in the past week, two people PM'ed me, and my inbox was too big to get your message... you know who you are! Please send off the text again? I'd forgotten I needed to delete the sent messages folder too... Well, enjoy!  


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**Intellect**

(Chapter Six)

"But Jesus said to him, 'Judas, are you betraying me with a kiss?'" (Luke 22:48)

Visions

_Lucius was in much worse shape than the day before. It seemed someone else had taken their hand to him - his face was an array of bruises and his chest marked with lines of blood. Not made by magic, but by a crueler method. A Muggle method, which the Muggle-hating Death Eaters should've been too proud to use. Harry tried to look away, but caught up in the vision, it was impossible._

_Voldemort stood there, of course, towering over Lucius Malfoy's restrained form. Another was there as well, one of the blonde men who had stood at Voldemort's side during Narcissa Malfoy's murder. He fell to the ground and kissed the hem of Voldemort's robe. "My Lord, forgive me. The boy escaped - Pettigrew failed to bring him in without aid and the delay left enough time for the traitor and another to Apparate in. Pettigrew got away, into the brush. He may've fled already."_

_"I am most displeased with you, Avery, but do not fear. The fault in this lies with Wormtail, not you. Go on, but remember - fail me again, and you'll regret it."_

_"Yes, my Lord. Thank you, my Lord." Avery kissed the robe's hem once more and backed out of the room, keeping his head well beneath Voldemort's height. It reminded Harry of a movie he'd seen once - a story about a king in Asia, whose subjects could not carry their heads higher than the king. Voldemort certainly looked the part - old, feeble, and growing a white beard much too similar to Dumbledore's for Harry's liking._

_Malfoy let out a low chuckle, lips breaking into a grin despite bruises. "So, my boy slips away again? He's outwitted you once more!"_

_"No one escapes forever," Voldemort snapped, drawing his wand. Lucius flinched back, but the door of the cell slammed open before a spell could be used against him._

_Peter Pettigrew stumbled in, falling to his knees. "Forgive me, Lord! It wasn't my fault! Snape and Lupin - I'm not a match for three wizards! But I clawed Lupin, he'll surely die of the silver -"_

_Voldemort turned on the pitiful man, kicking him over with a black boot. Though hunched with age, the Dark Lord was still a match for the small and rather obese Pettigrew. "Silence! With that hand, my gift to you, you should be able to match any wizard! How can I be sure you did not hand young Malfoy over to your old friend?"_

_"I-I didn't! I have information for you! Draco Malfoy knew his father was here, somehow - he said something about Potter, it was Harry Potter who told him, I don't know how -" he stuttered and shook under the glare of Voldemort._

_The Dark Lord gave a snort. "Severus Snape was not the only traitor. You sold out James Potter - how can I be sure you would not do the same to me? No, Wormtail, Harry Potter was not the one who gave young Malfoy the information... I do believe you were..."_

_Pettigrew let out a rat-like squeak, cowering against the stone wall of the cell. "No! No, I swear I didn't, please, Master, have mercy -"_

_Lucius let out a mad cackle, breaking in with a grin. "'For indeed the Son of Man is going as it has been determined; but woe to that man by whom He is betrayed!' Gospel of Luke. But who is the betrayer, and who the betrayed? Who is Jesus and who is Judas?"_

_Voldemort snarled, kicking Pettigrew savagely in the ribs, as he lay closer than Lucius. "Do not quote that savage Muggle text! For eleven years - the nuns, oh so charitable, and their bloody Book - They said my peculiarities damned me! I showed them damned! Stop quoting the words of the damned!"_

_Lucius grinned broadly - he'd found his opening. "'Lo, though I walk through the valley of Death, I fear no evil for you are at my side.' Book of Psalms. Many pureblooded wizards are Christian, Lord. They say Moses was a wizards, you know, and his staff, the one used to part the waters, was the very same used by Merlin. I'd think that even a half-blood orphan would know that much of wizard lore." _

_"I am no half-blood! I am the Heir of Slytherin!" Voldemort shouted, turning his wand on Lucius. "Do not quote the Muggle book, or so help me -"_

_"So help me what? 'From the brink of Sheol I call; my heart grows faint. Raise me up, set me on a rock, for you are my refuge, a tower of strength against the foe.' Psalm 61:3 -"_

_"STOP!" Voldemort shrieked, striking Lucius across the face. "No more - NO MORE will I take from you! _Avada Kedavra_!" The flash of sickly green filled the room and, a smile on his face, Lucius Malfoy went limp._

_Voldemort turned on Pettigrew, who had begun crawling for the door. The Dark Lord stepped toward him, kicking him savagely. "As for you - traitor, I brand you; traitor to friend and master, and there is but one penalty for selling out the Heir of Slytherin."_

_And displaying some lingering hint of the courage that had made him a Gryffindor once, long ago, Peter Pettigrew pulled himself to his feet. "Forgive me, James," he whispered, barely audibly._

_Voldemort let out another shriek and raised his wand. "_Avada Kedavra!_"_

And Harry Potter screamed in agony, tears streaming uncontrollably down his face and body shuddering in a violent seizure. Instead of fainting away, however, his eyes snapped open and he panicked. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't move, he couldn't stop shaking -

"Harry, just hold on," someone was saying. He managed to turn his head just enough to see Remus Lupin, who was levering himself up from a nearby cot. "Poppy's coming, just hold on..." Lupin said, grabbing a pillow and limping over - clearly in a great deal of pain, from the wince on his face - to stuff the extra padding behind Harry's head and take his hand. "Oh, God, your face... Poppy, hurry!"

Harry caught sight of Headmaster Dumbledore as the elderly man appeared at the edge of his vision, which was rapidly growing dark. The Headmaster took his other hand, brushing his hair from his forehead. "Remus, what's happened? I was outside with Severus -"

"He started screaming and thrashing about - God, he's in pain, he's not breathing - what are we going to do, I can't lose him -!" Lupin scooted onto the edge of the bed, scooping Harry bodily into his arms and rocking him comfortingly. "Hold on, Harry... please, hold on..."

Madame Pomfrey appeared as well, shouting spells that Harry hadn't heard before. And then, as soon as it started, Harry slumped against Lupin's chest, taking gasping breaths. Lupin let out a cry and hugged Harry tighter. The boy was shocked to feel a tear splash on his shoulder as his father's friend clung to him tightly.

When he'd regained enough breath to report his vision, he could do nothing but blurt it out. Draco Malfoy didn't appear to be in the vicinity, so it was probably alright. "Lucius Malfoy is dead. So's Wormtail. He killed them both."

Lupin let out a loud sob and even Dumbledore looked troubled by the news. He reached over and rubbed Harry's shoulder kindly, letting Lupin keep the boy in his grasp. "We very nearly lost you as well, Harry. I don't know why the seizures stop when they do, but I am very glad of it."

"Malfoy said something about a potion - a potion that would block all the visions. Please, sir, let me take it. I don't want anymore." Harry took advantage of the friend holding him close and buried his face in the werewolf's shabby robe, hiding the tears. "Please. No more."

"It's dangerous, Harry," Dumbledore murmured, squeezing his shoulder lightly, "but if it will help you tonight, you will have a dose of the Hyupnos Draught. Severus?" Dumbledore called. Harry didn't look up, but heard footsteps. "Severus, I'll need a dose of that potion immediately, for Harry."

"But Draco -" began the low voice of the Potions Master.

"-Will be fine," Dumbledore finished. "He'll need to be told tomorrow about his father's passing. If Mr. Potter is up to it, he might tell Mr. Malfoy of his father's last moments... but only if he is up to it. Your godson will be just fine, Severus, go on."

Lupin rubbed Harry's back soothingly. "You need to rest, Harry. Maybe... maybe now that Lucius is dead, you won't dream like that anymore. I'll be here when you wake up, I promise."

Harry murmured some assent and snuggled his face against Lupin's robe having, for the first time in fourteen years, someone to protect him like a parent while he slept. Before he drifted off, he heard Dumbledore speaking softly, as if far away. "You'd make a wonderful father to him, Remus..."

And Lupin answered. "I would love to. But I can't."

It was enough for Harry. _I would love to_. Loved, for once, Harry dozed off.

Remembering

Remus smoothed down Harry's mop of scraggly black hair, refusing to tuck the boy back into bed. It would've been near impossible to untangle his fingers from Remus' robe, but he didn't mind cradling James and Lily's child. It had been years since he'd been allowed to. Harry's breathing settled into an even pattern, and Remus frowned at Dumbledore over the boy's head. "You shouldn't have said that. He wasn't asleep. You know I can't ever take that part - it's Sirius' job. It can't be mine."

"Peter is dead, Remus," Dumbledore murmured, moving his hand up to pat the werewolf's back comfortingly.

Remus choked back his sob, clutching Harry tighter instead. "Well, I can't say I'm sorry for it. He should've spent twelve years in Azkaban, though I doubt he'd survive two. Why didn't I see it, Albus? I should've been able to figure it out! They thought I was the traitor, and I can't blame them, I'm a beast, but Peter was... he was Peter, he was always a hanger-on, he never fit in with me and Sirius and James, and I should've seen how he didn't fit, and I should've known that if one would turn, it was him -"

"Remus! Stop, you're driving yourself into hysterics," Dumbledore said, squeezing Lupin's shoulder. "Hindsight reveals everything the eye cannot see on first glance. I did not know of Peter's betrayal. Should I have? No. There was no evidence, nothing - despite what you say - to show that little Peter Pettigrew would be so brave and so cowardly all at the same time. We'd been faced with Darkness for so long that we could no longer see the Light. We looked for the Dark in each other, and ignored it in ourselves... and saw the Dark where it was not."

"Saw it in me," Remus added bitterly. When Albus started to reply, Remus shook his head quickly. "No, I don't hold it against anyone. It does seem obvious, doesn't it? I'm a werewolf; I was made this way by a Dark curse. I would hardly have been the last to fall to Voldemort's offers of power. I'm hardly the strongest. But Peter was the weakest. We protected him... was it too much? Were we treating him like he was a little boy? Weren't we offering him enough? God... Albus, why did he do it?" Remus winced and gulped back a fresh sob, unwilling to let his emotions run free another time.

Dumbledore shook his head. "We won't know. However, what has happened, has happened. There are consequences we must deal with - terrible consequences. If only his conscience had... but no. Too late. Too late for so many things." The Headmaster sighed deeply, looking every year his age. "We'll have to recall Sirius from the field. If the Aurors happen upon him now, there will be no evidence to save him."

Remus' jaw dropped - that was one consequence he'd forgotten completely. "Oh, God... if Peter can never testify..."

"... it's likely Sirius will never be cleared," Albus finished. "I had hoped that Peter would fall on the mercy of the courts after Voldemort's final defeat. However, under the circumstances, it may be best if Sirius Black simply ceases to exist. It's too dangerous for him to remain in Britain, even under an assumed name and guise."

"Which means Harry won't ever be allowed to live with him." Remus sighed softly, brushing back Harry's bangs to look down on the famous scar - the symbol of the root of all their problems. "Harry will want to see him before he goes off."

Albus nodded. "Now that is something I can do. However, that leaves Harry with only one guardian - you."

Remus allowed himself a hiss of irritation. "Albus, it's illegal! Until he's 17, he's not even allowed to stay the weekend! I'm a bloody werewolf!"

"You don't look bloodied in the least to me," Dumbledore smiled. "There is a loophole, and I intend to find it."

"I thought you wanted him to stay with his aunt and uncle still," Remus shot back, trying to untangle Harry's hand from his robes. It wasn't working.

The smile faded slightly. "I had not taken into account the events of this summer. You know that Mundugus Fletcher was killed by Voldemort before Sirius could track him down... what you do not know is that he was living mere streets away from Harry. The wards cannot protect him... and Voldemort has come much closer than most are aware. He needs a home."

"And I cannot provide one. I'm sorry, Albus, but I can't do it." Remus finally managed to disengage the clutching fingers of the sleeping boy. He laid him back against the pillows, tugging up the covers for warmth. "I want to... you know I want to, more than anything... but I absolutely refuse to put him in danger."

Remus limped over to his own bed, careful not to put too much weight on his burned ankle. Each burn from Peter's silver hand was agony - though nothing quite matched the gutwrenching pain of being forced to turn his back on James' son.

In turning his back, however, Remus missed the calculating gleam in Albus' eye.

Musings

Ross Blake and Gregory Goyle seemed perfectly happy to ignore Draco's very existence. They looked away when he passed, were sure to sit as far from him as humanly possible at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall, and found great delight in not waking him for class, as he no longer had any control over their social positions within Slytherin House. The rest of them were beginning to treat him the same way - they pretended not to notice when they tripped him up in the hallway, pretended that nothing happened at all when his potion was ruined by a handful of mysterious herbs that Draco certainly hadn't put there, and most certainly didn't remember he was a Slytherin when they changed the password to the Slytherin Common Room a week after Lucius Malfoy's death.

And so, unable to access his room, Draco slumped against the wall beneath the portrait leading to the dorms, alone. He certainly could've gone to ask Professor Snape for the password and pretended to feel smug as his guardian brought his wrath upon the Slytherin prefects - but somehow, it no longer felt worth the trouble. Why bother to make the lot of them even angrier? At least Ross and Greg were leaving him alone, for the most part, only making trouble when Draco managed to distinguish himself somehow.

It wasn't supposed to be like this. He'd been proud - too proud, his entire family too open to an easy decline into oblivion. The last Malfoy, and brought down to the level of a commoner, fodder for jokes and the one nobody looked at twice. What a fall from grace it had been... one day, looking forward to glory on the Dark Lord's side, the next... nobody.

Draco glanced around the hallway again before looking down at his hands. It was growing close to curfew. Filch would be by soon enough to hand out a detention for being in the halls before finally letting him in. His hands... crisscrossing veins visible beneath pale skin, veins through which ran the completion of Voldemort's spell. How much would the Dark Lord risk to sacrifice Draco for his own power? Enough to attack Hogwarts itself? Lucius wasn't alive to be bait anymore - Potter had said Draco's father died on his own terms, egging Voldemort on until he died quickly and painlessly by the Killing Curse. It was what Lucius had wanted.

How much would the Dark Lord risk? Through those veins flowed his life and death. How easy it would be, then, to stop Voldemort's plans once and for all. A leap from the North Tower or a cut from a dagger, releasing his blood on his own terms rather than allowing Voldemort to make the rules. A simple knife would do the trick, stolen from the kitchens with dinner -

A footstep sounded in the hall. Draco jerked in surprise, glancing up and expecting to see Argus Filch hanging over him, with Mrs. Norris close at hand. He could not have been more wrong.

"Draco?" Blaise called, hurrying down the corridor and kneeling by his side, "What are you doing out here? It's almost curfew!"

"They changed the password and neglected to tell me." Draco closed his eyes, unwilling to catch a glimpse of the amusement he was sure she would show across her face.

Blaise let out a snort of indignation. "Those sneaky bastards. C'mon, Draco, let's go inside, before Filch comes up."

"You're not going to leave me for the rabid cat?" Draco snapped. "I thought for sure you'd come around to Ross and Greg's way of thinking. Are you sure backing me up is worth your reputation?"

"Of course it is. Someone has to keep you from doing something stupid, after all. And before you ask, NO, Snape didn't put me up to it. You may not have looked sideways at me last year, but I forgive you. Now let's get inside and give Ross, Greg, and Pansy whatfor, alright?" Blaise lifted Draco's chin with a fingertip, forcing him to look her in the eye. She gave a genuine smile. "We don't all think you're worthless."

Draco returned the smile hesitantly. "Thanks," he murmured, pushing himself to his feet. "Well, then... what's the password, Blaise? Lead on."

Blaise grinned broadly. "Pansy picked it this week. It just goes to show how vapid she really is..." She turned to the painting. "Potter's a git."

The portrait swung open and Draco gave a nearly hysterical laugh. "Oh, Lord above... I should've thought of that one! That's just ridiculous. Does she really think that's a good secret password? Almost anyone could open Common Room by accident!"

"Well, the best passwords are sometimes the most obvious... but with the number of times someone says THAT every day, we might as well prop open the portrait and invite the Gryffindors to dine." Blaise gave a chuckle and slapped Draco lightly on the shoulder. "Come on in. We have a Charms test coming up... I was wondering, could you give me a hand on review? I didn't understand yesterday's lesson..."

Draco followed behind Blaise as she chatted lightly, ignoring the looks of loathing sent their way. Perhaps, just perhaps... his exile wouldn't be so bad after all.

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	8. Worry

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**Title:** Our Fathers (07)  
**Author name:** Indarae  
**Author email:** hornbach@grinnell.edu  
**Category:** Drama  
**Sub Category:** Angst  
**Keywords:** Voldemort Harry Ron Draco Year-Five  
**Rating:** PG  
**Spoilers:** SS/PS, CoS, PoA, GoF, FB, QTTA  
**Summary:** Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Draco Malfoy – three boys coming of age in a world of terror face off against an uncertain future. A father dies, a father tells his story, and a father is made human against the backdrop of Voldemort's second rise to power and a mysterious discovery hidden in the history of Hogwarts itself.  
**DISCLAIMER:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.   
**Author notes:** Here's the start of Part Two - Ron's bit. I forgot to leave an explanation for the incredibly religious bit of 'Intellect' - you see, I'm a comparative religions major, and find it incredibly amusing to stick bits of religious texts into my writing. For those of you who have asked, both on this fic and my other, I am indeed working on an original novel. Like Lucius' death in the last section, it deals with religion and the way it changes society - if I can actually get it published, it would be very exciting. ;) Anyways, here's part two - Draco's story fades into the background as Ron takes the floor and comes to terms with his own family situation. That, and its Christmas!  


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**Part Two: Home for the Holidays**

"'Ron, You-Know-Who and his followers sent the Dark Mark into the air whenever they killed,' said Mr. Weasley. 'The terror it inspired... you have no idea, you're too young. Just picture coming home and finding the Dark Mark hovering over your house, and knowing what you're about to find inside...' Mr. Weasley winced. 'Everyone's worse fear... the very worst...'"

-Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, page 142 (1st ed., hardcover)

Chapter Seven - Worry

According to Ron Weasley, life came in two colours: black and white. For his first fourteen years, everything could be categorized nicely. Black and white, good and evil, right and wrong. Slytherins were black and Gryffindors were white. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was evil and weak. Harry Potter was good and strong. Malfoys were wrong and Weasleys were right. Hogwarts was safe and Knockturn Alley was not. Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers had a terrible secret, Snape was an uncaring Slytherin bastard, and everything fit snugly into the correct niche.

Then, however, things started to change. Malfoys acted against the Dark. Snape shocked the students by rushing to Draco's side and acting like his father; like a human being for once. Harry wasn't so strong anymore - his Light seemed to be slowly fading away. Things were tense between Ron and Hermione as they fought over how best to help their friend, the boy who was starting to spend more time in the infirmary than Professor Lupin. The first piece had moved - Malfoy fighting for the Light - sending Ron questioning his very notions of the world.

All in all, Ron was very much looking forward to the Christmas holiday. Harry was coming to celebrate at the Burrow for the first time, Bill and Charlie had managed to get a break from work to spend the holiday with their family, and Hermione would be joining the Weasley clan with her parents for Christmas dinner. Even Professor Lupin and Sirius Black were invited, though Mrs. Weasley had plans to secure Percy in his room if he tried to turn Harry's convict godfather in to the Ministry. Food, friends, family, presents, food, and a chance to iron out the wrinkles in the fabric of his dichromatic reality.

However, as the day before the Christmas dawned, things took a very abrupt turn for the worse. "Where's Harry?" Ron demanded, throwing himself into the seat across from Hermione and quickly filling his plate with food. Harry would be late for Divination if he didn't show up soon.

"No good morning? Some friend you are," Hermione scoffed, glowering over the top of her Arithmancy text. "He's in the Hospital Wing. He had another seizure out in the hallway. Sent the Fat Lady into a fright. It was a triple homicide, he said. Well, three dead, he actually said, but they were certainly homicides -"

"Who?" Ron asked quietly, cutting her off.

"Do you remember Gareth Montegue? He was on the Slytherin Quidditch team, same year as Percy? He refused to join You-Know-Who, I guess, and so he was killed, along with his father and sister." Hermione sighed and closed her textbook. "I gather You-Know-Who is trying to recruit as many Slytherin graduates as he can find. Malfoy's parents... Gareth Montegue... Bethany Henrys and her family were killed last week..."

Ron stopped shoveling food into his mouth and set his fork down quietly. "I suppose a lot more have been giving in, though, right? I mean, lots of Slytherins work for You-Know-Who."

Hermione shrugged. "Some do. Some don't. Don't forget that Pettigrew was a Gryffindor. I really don't think they're all as evil as you think, Ron."

Glowering, Ron was about to launch into a tirade on the merits (or lack thereof) of Slytherin House when Harry entered the Great Hall. Ron knocked his cup over in surprise at Harry's haggard appearance. He hadn't been paying much attention to the changes in his best friend, but they were suddenly overwhelmingly noticeable. His eyes were shadowed by deep bags, his face was pale and hollow as Sirius Black's had been right after he escaped from Azkaban, and his robes hung off of him like Dudley's old clothes. He looked terrible - barely alive. "Harry, are you alright?" Ron asked softly.

"Fine," Harry shrugged. He slipped into a seat next to Ron and snagged a piece of sausage from a plate, though he didn't load up his plate with anything else. "They can't do anything for me in the Infirmary anyways. Just gave me the potion again. At least I'll sleep tonight." The words were spoken almost mechanically, as if Harry hadn't a clue what he was saying.

Ron couldn't remember Harry complaining of sleepless nights, though more than once Ron remembered Neville shaking him awake and demanding help in getting a seizuring Harry down to the Hospital Wing. Hermione didn't seem to know even that much as her jaw dropped in surprise. "Harry... how long have you been sleeping badly? Here, eat some more - have you told Madame Pomfrey -?"

Harry gave a snort. "Of course I've told Madame Pomfrey. She's got me taking a stronger version of the Dreamless Sleep potion - I found the recipe for it, I was wondering if you could help me make some over the holiday, Ron? - but they won't let me have it every night. I feel like I'm some sort of news bulletin for them." He dropped the uneaten sausage on his plate and stared at it. "Right, I don't mean to complain. I'm just fine, really. It's time for Divination, right, Ron? Or is it Charms? I can't remember what day of the week it is."

Ron and Hermione exchanged a worried look. "It's Wednesday, Harry. Divination. Hermione's got Arithmancy right now. We can walk at least to the second floor together. Do you have all your books?"

"Can I read off yours?" Harry asked. "I could run back to the dorms, but I'm a little tired -"

"You can look over my shoulder. We're just doing those stupid tarot cards in Divination, anyways - shall I stack the cards to predict your untimely death at the tentacles of the giant squid? I don't think we've used that one in a few months," Ron offered with a grin.

Harry gave a tired laugh and rubbed his eyes. "Go on ahead, I'll catch you up. I need to talk to Professor Dumbledore quickly."

"Right," Ron replied, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. He motioned for Hermione to follow and started talking as soon as they were out of Harry's earshot. "Merlin's Beard, Hermione, he looks like... like the living dead. Blimey, I hadn't realized how bad it was."

"That potion he was talking about - do you think they're only giving it to him once in a while for a reason?" Hermione asked. She wrung her hands, looking worried. "There are some Muggle medicines, especially sleep aids, that will make a person addicted to them if he takes them too often. This potion - what if it's like that -?"

Ron broke in, shaking his head. "Come off it, Hermione. This isn't the Muggle world, after all, and Madame Pomfrey wouldn't give him something if it were dangerous. If he hasn't been sleeping, he needs to sleep, and if this potion will let him sleep, I'd ask Snape to tutor me until I got it right, if it was too difficult to make."

Hermione gave a low sigh and nodded. "I guess you're right. I'm just so worried about him... he's so very ill. I'm afraid of what will happen to him."

"He's got the entire holiday to get better." Ron did his best to put on a cheerful grin. "Food, presents, food, my family, more food... and Sirius and Professor Lupin might be coming to Christmas, too! He'll be fine, you'll see." He patted Hermione's shoulder.

"Well, I've got to turn here for class. If he falls asleep in Divination, you shouldn't wake him up," Hermione suggested.

Ron put on a fake look of shock. "Hermione... did you just suggest that Harry should sleep through a class? He's not ill, you are!" She stuck out her tongue and turned the corner, letting Ron jog off to Divination before the period started.

Harry managed to slip into the classroom and collapse onto a pouf beside Ron just before the class began. Ron tossed over a deck of Tarot cards, blatantly ignoring Professor Trelawney as she shuffled to the front of the class in a cloud of stale perfume. She was wearing red and green for the occasion, though not at all tastefully.

"Do a reading for your partner... the Fates have informed me that Tarot cards will appear later on this year, so you will need this session to review what you know. I'll be around to see if your Inner Eyes are attuned to the vibrations of the room... Neville, dear, when you are in the Hospital Wing later today, please remember to do the homework I will be assigning you." Neville whimpered at Trelawney's pronouncement, peering around for the source of his future injury.

Ron rolled his eye. "Neville's going to fall down the stairs again, isn't he. I wish the old bat would leave off scaring him so much. Should I go first, or should you?"

Harry went to open his pack, but the pair instead found themselves facing the flamboyantly dressed Divination professor. "Let me," she practically oozed, snatching the cards from Harry's hand. Ron fought back a groan - the last thing Harry needed to hear now was a prediction of his own death, false though it was sure to be.

Trelawney pulled over a pouf and flipped the first card. "The past... hmm, two men, brothers. They haunt you. Here, the present... an enemy grows closer. And... You can no longer ignore the sickness burning in you. It tears you apart. Others start to notice."

Ron held his breath, looking to Harry for a reaction. If anything, he looked more weary than before, more ragged. In constant pain. What if Trelawney was right?

"The future," she continued, not glancing up. She flipped over three more cards. "This one is loss. Someone you care very deeply for will be lost to you forever. This path has been set in motion, and cannot be stopped. This one is the enemy - the mortal enemy comes once more and puts your life at risk. This path presents two options, either one likely: the enemy may kill you and triumph, or you may escape with your life once more. And here again is the sickness. It will grow worse. The sickness is connected to this path, the one of your enemy, but is not in his control. Here again are two options, though one is much more likely than the other. Unless a cure is found, it is this sickness which will claim your life - not the enemy."

Flinching, Ron glanced around the room. Lavender and Parvati were watching Harry with something akin to pity. Neville looked ready to burst into tears. Seamus' hands were trembling and he dropped his cards across the floor even as Ron watched. Dean met Ron's eyes and looked away in shock. And Harry himself, instead of laughing or rolling his eyes as he usually did, had his gaze locked on the final card. Ron looked at the cards too - he certainly wasn't an expert at reading Tarot cards, as he tended to stack the deck to make an impressive homework assignment, but it seemed like she was reading the cards right. Ever since she'd predicted Pettigrew's return to the Dark Lord's side during Harry's Divination final in their third year, Ron had been a great deal more wary of the truth behind her readings -

Suddenly, a drop of blood fell to the table, staining the enemy card. Ron looked up at Harry in shock, just as Harry lifted his hand to stop the blood flowing from his nose. A loud gasp echoed through the room as Harry's lip split and started bleeding as well, right before their eyes. Professor Trelawney let out a squeak and fainted dead away while Dean and Seamus dashed over from their table. "Harry?" Ron asked, grabbing a shabby handkerchief from his pocket and offering it to his friend, "Are you alright?"

Harry took the cloth and dabbed at his lip. A bruise seemed to be forming on one of his cheeks and his nose was bleeding heavily. Most frightening of all was his scar - it was pitch black, burned across his forehead as if he'd been cursed that morning rather than fourteen years earlier. "I'm alright," he muttered quietly, giving a warning glance in Seamus' direction. "I need to go back to the infirmary."

"Tell Professor Trelawney that I've taken him to the Hospital Wing, when she wakes back up," Ron commanded, helping Harry to his feet. When his friend protested, Ron gave a scowl. "Don't start, Harry. You look like hell."

Seamus' help was waved off, but Harry allowed Ron to half support and half carry him down the stairs winding up the North Tower. As soon as the trapdoor was closed, Ron gave a strangled laugh and a half-hearted grin. "All that stuff about a mortal enemy - 'course you have a mortal enemy, we've known that for years! And what was that about brothers haunting you? I haven't seen any ghosts floating about. She's mad, Harry, and you shouldn't listen -"

"She's right," Harry whispered. He let out a humorless laugh. "Thank God for this potion. At least when I've taken it, I don't see the visions - I suppose Gareth Montegue's mother is finally dead. I should go to Professor Dumbledore, he needs to know -"

Ron broke in with another scowl, halting Harry's progress forward. "What do you mean, she's right? You're not sick, you're just seeing a lot of visions. You're twice the Seer she'll ever be."

Harry gave another laugh, slumping against Ron's shoulder as if he hadn't the strength to stand on his own. "I'm dying, Ron. I overheard Madame Pomfrey talking to Professor McGonagall this morning. These visions I'm having - they're because I'm connected to Voldemort. With each vision, the connection is getting stronger. It's killing me."

"You aren't dying, that's ridiculous," Ron snapped. "Don't you think they'd be doing something to stop it, if you were? That's not what you heard, obviously. You were just asleep."

"Ron..." Harry sighed, shaking his head. "Let's just go see Professor Dumbledore. He needs to know about Mrs. Montegue."

"You aren't dying!" His voice cracked, but he didn't care. "You can't die, you're Harry Potter!"

"Everybody dies." Harry paused, taking in Ron's shocked face. "Damnit, I wasn't going to say anything. I've still got a while. And if we manage to kill Voldemort, it'll cut the connection. Well, cut the connection or kill me outright. I'm not dead yet, anyways."

"You aren't going to die," Ron snapped. "They're wrong." Ron practically dragged Harry down the hallway to the gargoyle guarding Dumbledore's office. The door was open, as if he'd been expecting the two of them. "Can you walk up there?"

Harry straightened, hobbling through the doorway. "Go back to class, Ron. If I'm not at lunch, I'll be in the Infirmary again. And please... don't tell anybody?" He turned and was gone, the gargoyle sliding back into place.

Ron fumed - of course he was going to tell somebody. Hermione would know what to do. Hermione always knew what to do.

"What do you mean, you don't know what to do?" Ron snapped, glaring at Hermione over the top of a potted Wolfsbane plant. "Haven't you been reading up on visions and such? You're never out of the library!"

"Harry asked me to figure out what You-Know-Who wants with the books Lucius Malfoy stole from the Ministry archives. Professor Dumbledore can't decide why it's important, or so Harry told me. I've been helping Harry defeat You-Know-Who - what have YOU been doing with your time?" Hermione demanded, lowering her voice as Professor Sprout gave a disapproving glance in their direction. "I think I'm on the verge of figuring it out. I don't think it was the book itself he needed, I think it was a verse in one of the poems."

Ron dropped the plant. "Poetry? You-Know-Who reads poetry?"

"No, of course not!" Hermione hissed. "It's a book of 19th century poems about the Founders. The poet's introduction mentions older sources, and I think I've found one of them. It's a book from only a few decades after the Founding - well, a copy of it, of course - about the tragic love affair between Slytherin and Ravenclaw. He used to go sneaking around the castle to meet her in her room. The Ravenclaw dormitories are in the same location as Ravenclaw's rooms, you know. The Slytherins used to be in the South Tower, where Slytherin's rooms were, but the tower collapsed in 1573 -"

Ron crossed his arms and scowled, breaking into her historical tirade. "So? Why should I care if Cho Chang is sleeping in Rowena Ravenclaw's master bedroom? Makes no difference to me. How does this help Harry?"

"I... I don't know," Hermione admitted, averting her glance. "I just know the answer is there, but I can't figure it out. Maybe I'll take a break on this one, and look at some of the others... there's an Egyptian one, a Veela one, and a French one, about some monks."

"And meanwhile, Harry's dying," Ron snapped.

Hermione's lower lip quivered as her eyes widened. "Wh-what?"

He hadn't meant to break it to her that way, but it was too late now. "He heard Madame Pomfrey telling Professor McGonagall. The visions are killing him. We have to find a way to stop them!"

"Mr. Weasley?" Ron glanced up in surprise, dropping his plant again. Professor Sprout was approaching from across the greenhouse, with Dumbledore trailing close behind. The Headmaster slipped in front of Sprout, beckoning for Ron to accompany him. "Would you step outside with me for a moment? Don't worry, you aren't in trouble."

"I'll be right back," Ron mouthed to Hermione. He set aside his gardening gloves and followed on the Headmaster's heel. "Is it about Harry?" he asked as they passed the door. "Is Harry alright? He can still come to my house for Christmas, right?"

Dumbledore nodded. "He certainly can. This has nothing to do with Mr. Potter. A few minutes ago, your father floo'ed me. There was an accident. Charlie was attacked by a Norwegian Ridgeback and a Peruvian Shortsnout as he was attempting to separate the fighting dragons."

Ron's breath caught in his throat. "Is... Is Charlie dead?"

"He's been brought to St. Mungo's," Dumbledore said softly. "They can't do anything to help him at the Romanian hospital, and the best burn staff are here. He's in very serious condition."

"Is he going to be alright?"

A pause stretched out. Dumbledore finally sighed. "They don't know."

Ron slumped against the wall of the greenhouse, staring blindly at his worn-out shoes.

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	9. Hurt

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**Title:** Our Fathers (08)  
**Author name:** Indarae  
**Author email:** hornbach@grinnell.edu  
**Category:** Drama  
**Sub Category:** Angst  
**Keywords:** Voldemort Harry Draco Ron Year-Five  
**Rating:** PG  
**Spoilers:** SS/PS, CoS, PoA, GoF, FB, QTTA  
**Summary:** Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Draco Malfoy – three boys coming of age in a world of terror face off against an uncertain future. A father dies, a father tells his story, and a father is made human against the backdrop of Voldemort's second rise to power and a mysterious discovery hidden in the history of Hogwarts itself.  
**DISCLAIMER:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.   
**Author notes:** Hello again! The Harry Potter: Chamber of Secrets premiere was Sunday, and boy was it amazing! I had wonderful standing room just in front of someone who took pictures from the Sean Biggerstaff website (you can access it from thesnitch.co.uk), so my backpack was used as a camera platform. So, er... in the unlikely event that cameraperson happens to be reading, sorry about the backpack... but I don't think my shoulders will EVER be the same thanks to you. :P  
  
Right, thanks for all the reviews! The religious overtones went off much better than I'd hoped - I honestly sat down at the computer and just decided to make Lucius even harder to hate. After all, I don't think a barrier between religion and wizarding society ever could've really occured, especially in Henry VIII's England. Hmm... that could be a story...   
  
But, here's the next chapter of THIS one!  


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Chapter Eight - Hurt

Harry spent most of the train ride from Hogsmeade to King's Cross in London sleeping. The potion, whatever it was, seemed to be doing the trick - while Voldemort had probably injured several people since the disastrous Divination lesson the day before, judging from the new bruises which had sprung up across Harry's arms and face, he seemed to feel no pain from them, and didn't have a single seizure. Instead, he slept quietly, finally getting some of the rest he so needed. Hermione was left to stare out the window alone as Ron, Ginny, Fred, and George quietly worried over Charlie's fate.

"It's just a dragon burn," Fred muttered. "He's been burned a dozen times. He'll pull through."

"But Professor Dumbledore looked worried," Ginny moaned. "He only does that when the circumstances are just terrible. He thinks Charlie's going to die!"

George frowned, pulling his little sister into a hug. "He'll be alright, Gin. He has to be."

"Be he doesn't have to be," Ron murmured, glancing gloomily over at Harry's dozing form. "Sometimes bad things happen to good people, and there's nothing you can do to keep from losing them."

Ginny followed Ron's gaze to Harry's sleeping form. Some sort of comprehension must have come to her, as an apprehensive look slowly crossed her features. "Ron..." she began, lowering her tone to a whisper, "What's wrong with Harry...?"

He'd asked Ron to keep quiet about it, but shouldn't family know? Harry was practically family. Ron struggled with the secret before sighing quietly. Hermione seemed to be dozing off, so she couldn't yell at him... "Listen, this isn't to go past the four of us, alright? It'll just drive Mum crazy with worry, and with Charlie... the way he is, we can't do anything to make it worse, right?"

"What's wrong with Harry, Ron?" George demanded. He'd always been the quieter of the twins (when Ron could tell which was doing the talking) and his sudden demand took Ron slightly aback. "Seamus told me what happened in your Divination class, with the Tarot reading. He said Trelawney started sobbing when she woke up - what's going on?"

"Harry's dying," Ron said quietly. His siblings gaped on cue, looking ready to jump in with demands of proof. Ron shook them off. "He asked me not to tell anybody, but how could I not? I mean, we're his family, right?"

"Right," Fred put in. "I've always thought Dumbledore was daft not to let him live with us, especially after we had to break him out of his room at the Muggles' place."

"They treat him like dirt," George continued. "They won't care when he... when he's gone, but we will." He winced, running a hand through his hair, at a loss for words.

Ginny wiped at her eyes, trying to cover up tears. "He'll have the best Christmas ever. It's all we can do for him."

"What you can do for him is stop spreading rumors like that," Hermione snapped, sending all four Weasleys looking over in surprise. "He's not dying, he's going to be fine. I'm going to find a way to cure him, even if the lot of you won't try!" She jumped to her feet, giving Ron a glare. "And you - you have to stop telling people lies!"

"That's what he told me!" Ron yelled back. Fred's hand, resting on his shoulder, was the only thing that kept Ron from rising from his seat as well. "I think he bloody well knows what's going on in his life! Madame Pomfrey said it. If she doesn't know how to fix him, who can? Bloody hell, Hermione, he's my best friend... I don't want to lose him, but what else is there to do?"

Hermione turned up her nose and snatched her bag from the rack above the seat. Flinging it over her shoulder, she marched to the door. "This can't be the only case in which a curse has had side effects of this sort. And I'm going to find it!" With that, she turned and left the compartment in a huff, slamming the door behind her.

The four Weasleys all glanced in Harry's direction with bated breath, waiting to find out if Hermione's exit had troubled his sleep. He merely shifted a bit on the seat and slept on.

Ron gave a sigh of relief. "I thought for sure he'd wake up - he hasn't slept in days..."

"Is there anything we can do?" Fred asked, steering the conversation back to the topic at hand.

"Well..." Ron thought back to Harry's request on the stairs below the Divination room. "The only reason Harry's sleeping at all is this potion. I don't know the name, but Harry has the recipe for it. I'm horrible at potions, but you're fair at it, aren't you, George?"

"Better than Fred," George responded, grinning at his twin. "He'd have failed last year if it weren't for me."

Fred pouted. "Well, at least I'm not hopeless at Charms... I've heard Neville was better at Summoning Charms than you are!"

"Will you help?" Ron cut in, trying to diffuse the fight.

"Of course." It was Ginny who replied, as she threw silencing glances, which were frighteningly reminiscent of Mrs. Weasley at her worst, at the twins.

Ron nodded, gaze flickering back to his friend. "Good. If this is the way it's going to be... then we'll be there until the very end. We're the only family he's got."

The only family Harry had, that was, barring Professor Lupin and Sirius Black. As Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were at St. Mungo's with Charlie, a somber Bill had been accompanied by Professor Lupin to collect the Weasley brood and Harry. Ron was surprised to find Bill chatting amiably with Lupin - a man with whom, for all he was aware, Bill had never been aquainted. Lupin then managed to confuse everyone else by pulling Harry into a hug and planting a kiss on his forehead, as though the Professor was Harry's long-lost uncle. Harry, rather than looking embarrassed as Ron would've, returned the hug. "Where's Snuffles?" he asked, glancing around.

"At my flat. It's absolutely impossible to get dog hair off of the apholstry in my car; especially black dog hair. Besides, it gave me the chance to catch up with Billy, without the hairy beast drooling on me to get my attention." Lupin gave a wink and Harry grinned with a true happiness that Ron hadn't seen in him since before the Triwizard Cup.

Fred and George burst into laughter. "_Billy_?" Fred demanded, slinging an arm over his eldest brother's shoulders. "Who calls you Billy?"

Bill scowled and tried to squirm away from Fred's grasp, but George came up on his other side and mirrored his twin's motion, effectively trapping Bill in place. "I went to school with Remus," he admitted, "but no one else is allowed to call me Billy. Got it?"

George grinned broadly and tweaked Bill's cheek. "Got it, Billy."

Ron merely gaped. "Then that means... do you have any embarrassing stories about Snape?!"

Bill and Professor Lupin burst into laughter. "Plenty!" Bill said, causing Ron to grin broadly in anticipation. "Though he left at the end of my second year, with Re. Actually, most of the stories are about Re and James and Pete and... the others." His grin faultered for only a moment before skipping Sirius Black's name. "He had red and gold striped hair the night after Slytherin won the Gryffindor-Slytherin Quidditch game my first year. That was before I was on the team."

"One of our best pranks," Lupin recalled with a smile, winking at Bill. "Although... when snooty Narcissa Thein got bonded to her seat with simple Muggle glue in Potions class during my last year... that was a definate highlight..."

"She's dead," Harry suddenly remarked, causing the grins to slip from Bill and Professor Lupin's faces. He continued without pause. "Does that mean you knew my dad?" he asked Bill.

"Not very well," Bill admitted. He faultered a moment, seemingly searching for word - or perhaps trying to come to terms with the sudden and emotionless announcement of Narcissa Thein-Malfoy's death. "Re here tutored me in a few subjects," he finally continued. "I was terrible at Charms, at first. But James and Si- er, James was always busy with Quidditch and he started dating Lily soon after I got there. Well, by my second year, she was. Didn't you date her for a while, Re?"

Professor Lupin blushed a violent red, sending Fred and George snickering, while Harry stared at his former professor in shock. "Well, yes," he admitted bashfully, "but it wasn't for very long. It couldn't have gone anywhere, seeing as I've the whole lycanthropy problem..."

Bill nodded sagely, as if the curse really didn't bother him. "Yes, I heard about that from Percy... tough break. If you're ever out of a job, though, the goblins at the Cairo branch, and the Jerusalem branch, too, don't ask a lot of questions."

"Thanks," Professor Lupin grinned. "It really does mean a lot. I'm working in the Muggle world right now though - and they don't ask _any_ questions. Well, c'mon," he said, reaching for Harry's luggage, "let's head out. There's no use standing around here and talking, when we'll be able to spend the night chatting away at my flat."

"Your flat?" Ron put in.

Lupin nodded. "I don't want to drive all the way to the Burrow this evening. My car is an honest-to-goodness, unaltered Muggle device. It'll take ages to get there." He slung his free arm over Harry's shoulder, leading the group away from the platform.

"Can I use the fellytone?" George shouted.

"Oooh, do you have one of the boxes with the pictures?" Fred added.

Ron held back a groan. True, he was excited to see what a real Muggle flat looked like, but with the twins? It would be an interesting night.

It was more than interesting - it was chaos. Harry had fallen asleep nearly upon arrival and Ginny immediately became entranced by the telly, watching some programme about a Muggle girl who fought vampires - though few of the facts were correct - leaving Ron to watch the twins' antics. Professor Lupin was on the fellytone, and his voice could be heard yelling over the racket Fred and George were creating while Bill had run out to get Indian take-away from down the street for dinner. Ron was surprised that Lupin's commentary hadn't yet awakened Harry.

"Yes, Marguerite, I'll be needing a substitute at work tomorrow. I'm sorry I'm so late on this, but there's an emergency... Fred, leave the dog alone! Yes, I suppose you could say I have friends over - it's part of that emergency. No, they're not the emer- Fred, damnit, leave the dog alone! They're the siblings of an old school mate of mine, I picked them up at the train station because Billy's little brother was in a severe, erm, car accident; they're staying with me tonight, but I've got to drive them nearly to Wales tomorrow. Damnit, George, he's a bloody dog, not a pillow! He's going to bite you, and you'll bloody well deserve it!" Ron spared a glance over at the twins, who had wrestled Sirius, in dog form of course, to the ground. "How old are they? Marguerite, you wouldn't believe me if I... Well, Billy's just turned thirty-one. The injured brother, Charlie, is twenty-eight. Percy's not staying with me, but he's almost twenty. Fred and George are twins - yes, the ones terrorizing my poor dog - and they're seventeen, although they're behaving more like three year olds. Oh, hold on, Margie." Lupin set the phone down and charged across the room.

Geroge was still draped across Sirius, holding him down, while Fred tied Ginny's hair ribbons around Sirius' ears. Sirius did not look amused.

"God Almighty, can't the two of you just watch the telly and act normally for a change?! He's a sodding dog - and he's not a poodle, get those ridiculous ribbons off of him and give them back to your sister before he bites you. Act your bloody age! Go ahead, Padfoot, bite them as hard as you want!" he said, addressing the dog.

George's eyes narrowed, though he didn't move from his place draped across the dog. "Padfoot? Like... the map...?"

The professor gave a snort. "Do you actually think you were the first students to have that map? Filch got it off of my friends my sixth year - it was a terrible accident. Now do you mind? I'm on the phone! And give me the ribbons!" Lupin snatched the red and gold ribbons away and stuffed them in his pockets, giving a glare worthy of Molly Weasley in the twins' direction before returning to the fellytone.

Fred pouted. "And the big mutt was actually looking festive. Ow! He bit me!" Ron broke into laughter as Fred cradled his hand, George launched himself away from the shaggy dog, and Sirius launched himself after George.

Meanwhile, Lupin's narrative had continued. "Yes, Padfoot bit him, and he bloody well deserves it... oh, right. Ron's fifteen - yes, like Harry, my... er, nephew - and Ginny's fourteen. Seven of them, right, starting in '64. Er... Irish Catholic? Well, they're not Irish. Yes, and Harry's here too. If he stays with me over the Easter hols, I'll be sure to bring him 'round to meet you... George, goddamnit, leave the toaster oven alone! Marguerite, I've got to go before they burn the bloody house down. Yes, good night."

This was better than anything the Muggles could think up for the telly. Ron grinned broadly and listend as the twins were berrated in a tirade that Molly Weasley would've been quite proud of. Harry didn't know what he was missing.

The cheerful wonders of the Muggle flat didn't last long, as a scream rent the air deep in the night. Loud enough to wake even Ron, he leapt over Fred and George to charge into Lupin's room. The professor seemed to have taken up a bed on the floor, but he was perched on the bed with Harry draped across his lap as Ron entered. Ron stopped abruptly and watched the scene, which was so reminicent of many nights at the Burrow - his dad would charge up from his parents' bedroom to comfort Ron when he dreamt of spiders or his mum would hold Ginny as she cried after dreams of Riddle and the diary. He felt as though he'd intruded upon a private moment between father and son, even though they weren't related.

"What did you See, Harry? Are you alright?" Professor Lupin rocked Harry in his arms, rubbing his back comfortingly. Only his profile was visible from the doorway, and just the top of Harry's mussy black hair.

"He led a raid on a house full of people. I knew one of them." Though Ron couldn't see his face, he could hear the thickness of his friend's voice - he was probably crying, and Ron knew that Harry would never want to be seen crying. "I should talk to Dumbledore. He should know..."

Lupin continued playing the role of father. "Not tonight. It can wait until morning. You need to rest - you're not looking well at all."

"I don't think I can sleep. I don't want the dreams to come back." It was the frightened plea of a child, despite Harry's age. Ron watched as he buried his face in Lupin's shoulder and sobbed.

"Then I'll stay here until you're ready to sleep. Shh... it'll be alright, Harry, I promise..."

Ron backed up and closed the door as silently as he was able. There were some thing he shouldn't intrude upon - and Professor Lupin would keep Harry safe until morning.

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	10. Anger

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Title: Our Fathers (09)  
**Author name:** Indarae  
**Author email:** hornbach@grinnell.edu  
**Category:** Drama  
**Sub Category:** Angst  
**Keywords:** Voldemort Harry Ron Draco Year-Five  
**Rating:** PG  
**Spoilers:** SS/PS, CoS, PoA, GoF, FB, QTTA  
**Summary:** Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Draco Malfoy - three boys coming of age in a world of terror face off against an uncertain future. A father dies, a father tells his story, and a father is made human against the backdrop of Voldemortís second rise to power and a mysterious discovery hidden in the history of Hogwarts itself.  
**DISCLAIMER:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.   
**Author notes:** I've loved hearing what you think about all of this! Please continue to review, it makes my day. Also: This is a complete work, available at schnoogle if you can't wait. I'll be trying to post a little more often, though I'm working dilligently on my "Prayer of a Child" and the upcoming "The Gift." Both of those will be/are available here. Thanks!

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Chapter Nine - Anger

The ride from London to the Burrow was the longest of Ron's life. Bill had Apparated ahead with the luggage, leaving the twins, Ginny, and Ron all squeezed into the back seat when Harry was allowed to ride driver's side with Snuffles on his lap. The twins, of course, made Ron's ride misreable with any number of taunts and prods. But, finally, the Burrow was in sight.

Only Bill and an irritated-looking Percy were awaiting their arrival. "Mum and Dad are with Charlie. We can head over after dinner to see him," Bill reported. "Hey, Re, do you mind kipping out on my floor?"

Lupin, to Snuffles' very obvious annoyance, was in the process of attatching a dog collar and leash to his Animagus friend. "Floor's fine, Billy. Snuffles, here, will likely join us. Do you mind?"

Bill shook his head and Percy turned up his nose at the mutt. "Professor, did you talk to Mum before bringing this... animal?"

"Course I did! I'll have you know, your mother is very fond of Snuffles." Lupin ruffled the dog's ears and affected a sickeningly sweet tone, grinning maliciously at Sirius. "Ooooh, isn' that right, Snuffly?"

Snuffles growled menacingly and Ron exchanged a grin with Harry. He was sure Lupin would never hear the end of that one... Snuffly?

Fred frowned and peered at the dog. "Hey, when you were talking on the fellytone, you called the dog 'Padfoot'."

Professor Lupin's smile faultered for a moment, and Bill's eyes slowly widened in some sort of horrified recognition of the name. "Just a nickname," Lupin answered quickly, avoiding Bill's gaze. Fred and George were exchanging suspicious glances as well. "And please, Percy, don't call me professor. None of you need to. I've not been your professor for over a year! Remus is fine."

"Well, come inside," Percy began, shooting a glare of dislike at the large black dog. Bill was staring as well. He took a step back and opened his mouth to speak, but Lupin clamped a restraining hand on his shoulder. Percy went on, oblivious. "There's only a bit of time before we eat and go to see Charlie. It's too cold to be standing around outside." He sheparded everyone in, yelling pompously at the twins as they offered him some suspicious-looking candy. Ron let himself grin. Everything was right at home, and would be even better when Charlie was home for Christmas.

Despite her son's injury, Mrs. Weasley had outdone herself with the decorating, due to the guests they'd be having for the holiday. The tree was in the living room, decked with hand-placed ornaments and tiny magical lights; candles floated along the stairwell, lighting the way to all the bedrooms; garlands of evergreens were tied with red and gold ribbons and twelve stockings hung from the mantle: two very old ones for Mr. And Mrs. Weasley, seven in various colours for the Weasley children (with Ron's, of course, in maroon), and three very new ones, labelled "Harry," "Remus," and "Snuffles." Harry, upon seeing the stockings, grabbed Ron's sleeve and nearly danced in excitement. "Ron! Ron, look, I've a stocking, too! With my name on it!"

Ron laughed, heartened at the change in Harry. He'd been sullen at school but had nearly returned to his old self. "Of course you have a stocking. See, she made it green, just like the first sweater she made for you. She couldn't do red, since that's Charlie's colour. Don't worry, you'll get another sweater, too." Ron sighed, eyeing the suspiciously wrapped package already beneath the tree with his name on it. Yes, he was doomed - more maroon. "Do you think Dobby would want a maroon sweater?"

"I got him some socks in Hogsmeade. I found some with the Gryffindor crest on them. Rugby socks." Harry grinned. "He loved them."

Ron frowned, wracking his brain for a meaning to accompany the word. "Rubby? Is that what Dean watches at home?"

Harry shook his head emphatically. "Rugby. And no, it's... like... oh, never mind. Muggle game." There was a long pause as Harry admired the presents and turned respectfully to Percy. "So, um... how are things at the Ministry?"

Percy sniffed loudly and Ron turned to escape, but the sight of Fred and George once again chasing Snuffles, this time with a hazardous-looking treat, and in turn being chased up the stairs by Lupin caught his eye and kept him close enough to hear Percy launch into what Ron privately called 'Bighead Boy' mode. "Well, after the whole Triwizard Disaster -" Ron saw Harry wince visibly from the corner of his eye "- my department has been quite busy. There was an international incident to smooth over, due to Headmaster Karkaroff's disappearance, and Headmaster Dumbledore's been going around announcing You-Know-Who has returned. Pure rubbish, of course, sorry Harry. And with Mr. Crouch's death, it's been simply ghastly trying to get things done. Were I a more senior member, I'm sure they would've offered me a promotion, but I've only been there a year. I was his assistant, remember. But, they did offer it to Dad."

With a start, Ron peered over at Percy. "Dad? They offered Dad a promotion?"

Percy sniffed again, staring down his nose at Ron - which was quite a feat, as Ron was nearly his height. "Of course! Ron, he's been head of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts department for nearly twenty-three years! He was offered Muggle Afairs right before you were born and Magical Affairs right before I was, but he turned both down. He's never been offered anything quite as important as International Affairs, but I believe Minister Fudge was quite impressed with the way he handled the aftermath of the Quidditch Cup. International Affairs would be a very important position right now, you know. And he was offered an extra 10,000 Galleons a year to take it up."

Ron's jaw dropped. "10,000 Galleons? Wow... when will he be switching offices?"

"He won't." There was a long pause, as Ron stared in shock and Percy's ears turned bright red in some sort of combination of anger and annoyance. "He's turned it down. The seventh department-head position he's been offered since1975, and he turned it down. He could've been Minister of Magic, if he hadn't been so obsessed with plugs!" Percy scowled and turned abruptly, retreating before his anger got the best of him. An angry Percy - that was a sight Ron never wanted to see again. The last time, he'd managed to destroy most of his room in rage. Percy kicked the wall savagely as he stormed up the stairs, his neck colouring bright red as he went.

Harry glanced over at Ron, shaking his shoulder to get his attention. "What's the matter with Percy? It's just a job."

"Just a job?" Ron spun to face his friend, already able to feel his own face turning a flushed red. "Harry, 10,000 Galleons more a year... that's more than Percy makes! If he could've gotten a better paying job in 1975, why didn't he? Bill and Charlie were already born then, and Percy was born in 1976! Then we wouldn't have to be poor! I'm so sick of being poor! Malfoy wouldn't be able to make fun of me anymore, and I wouldn't have to wear Percy's old robes because I've outgrown Bill's, and maybe I would've been able to have my very own broomstick for a change, and I could've had a real pet instead of Scabbers, and I wouldn't -" Ron stopped abruptly, flushing an even darker red at the expression in Harry's eyes. It was pity. "You don't know what I'm talking about anyways," he snarled, turning for the stairs. "You have everything you want."

He knew it would hurt, but he couldn't stop himself. Before he could see the pain in Harry's eyes, Ron bounded up the stairs. It was Christmas, Harry was ill, he was supposed to be helping him, but the thought of being the object of his best friend's pity was too much for Ron to handle.

By the time he'd reached the third floor landing, the rage had melted into despair. He should go back down and apologize - after all, it wasn't Harry's fault that he'd lived most of his life in near-poverty. It was his father's fault for being too stubborn to take a new job, when his family could barely scrape by. His father's fault that he'd been forced to go to the Yule Ball in shabby maroon robes, and that Draco Malfoy made a fool of him for his lack of money even when his blood was as pure as the Malfoys, and that his schoolbooks were always stained by Fred and George's pranks, and Percy's carefully taken notes, and Charlie's collection of notes scribbled in his books by admirers, and the bad poetry Bill had composed when he was in fifth year. He couldn't even afford new books when they were almost twenty-five years out of date.

Suddenly, Ron heard voices raised at the end of the hall. He crept down outside of Bill's room and knelt down to peer through the keyhole - years of watching Fred and George in order to rat on them to his mum had made espionage one of Ron's little-known talents. Ron didn't see Bill, however. In fact, had Bill been close by, Ron had the feeling a full-blown duel would be going on, as Sirius Black was currently standing in his human form and shouting at Professor Lupin. "Look at him, Remus! Look at him, he's skin and bones!"

"You can't help him, Sirius." Lupin was sitting on the edge of Charlie's bed, staring at the ground glumly. "None of us can. I told you that, but you just wouldn't listen -"

"And how am I supposed to accept that? You're the brainy one, go run off to the Ministry Archives and figure something out! Isn't that how you always found the answers at school?" Sirius started pacing, kicking at Lupin's bag of clothing every time he passed.

"Maybe I grew up, Sirius. It's not as if you were around to see it." He reached out and snatched up the bag before Sirius could kick it again. "You weren't around to help me, you weren't around to raise Harry, and it certainly wasn't your fault -" Ron saw Sirius turn threateningly in Lupin's direction, but the werewolf jumped to his feet. "Hey, hold it, just listen. It wasn't your fault that you weren't there, it was Peter's, but it means that you've got no more of a hold on him than anyone else in the wizarding world. I know you want him to be your godson... your son... but you know that can't happen. It'd be best if he started to get used to the idea, as well."

Sirius snarled loudly and went back to pacing. "I'm his godfather, Remus, James chose me! I can't just abandon him!"

"And running around England will help you? No, it'll just send you right into the Ministry's hands!" Lupin collapsed back onto Charlie's bed. "If they get you, there's nothing we can do to keep you from getting the Kiss! Peter is dead!"

Ron gave a soft gasp, hoping that the two older men hadn't heard him. He'd known that You-Know-Who had killed Peter Pettigrew, of course, but the affects hadn't occurred to him. Now no one would ever believe Sirius if he proclaimed his innocence. There wasn't a shred of proof. Pettigrew's body was probably destroyed or buried in some unmarked grave. But what did that mean for Sirius? Would he have to hide out in the cave by Hogsmeade or as a dog for the rest of his life?

"Peter's dead, and I curse God for letting someone else do the job! I hope he's rotting in Hell!" Without Lupin's bag to kick, Sirius turned and kicked the edge of Bill's dresser instead. "I should've killed him in the Shrieking Shack, Remus! I shouldn't have let Harry stop me, I should've -"

"And then Harry would've hated you and Severus would've killed you or turned you over to the dementors. Should'ves and could'ves aren't going to help anymore. Peter's dead, James is dead, Lily is dead, Frank can't identify his own son, Severus has become bitter and spiteful - well, moreso than he was at school - Arabella is old and tired and doesn't want to rejoin the wizarding world, Mundugus is dead, Arthur's hands are tied, you're a convict... and I'm the only one left able to do a bloody thing! Do you think this is the way I wanted it to turn out? God, no..." Lupin gave a deep sigh and buried his face in his hands. His voice was muffled slightly, but not enough to make it inaudible. "I should've gone back to France. Werewolves can get jobs in France, and Voldemort couldn't care less what the French are doing."

"Snape is bitter?" Sirius gave a snort. "Look who's talking. And I'm not out of the running yet."

Lupin glanced up, frowning. "You are. Sirius, you're not seriously considering going against Dumbledore -"

He was back to pacing in a second. "He bloody wants me to run away! How can I do that, when Harry's in danger? Did you hear what Dumbledore said about those dreams? How can I run away?"

"You have to go, because if something happens to you, Harry would stop fighting. You're all he has left. Lily's stupid sister treats him like a disease, Albus treats him like a pawn - an expensive pawn, but a pawn all the same, Severus treats him like dirt because of the memories, and everyone else treats him with pity or worship. Without you to guide him, I don't think he'd want to live." Lupin's gaze was completely sincere, and Ron felt a chill run down his spine at what he'd insinuated. Would Harry really do something like that?

Sirius gave a loud snort. "He'd have you and his friends. If I got the Kiss, he'd hardly go kill himself. He's strong. He's a Gryffindor. And as you said, I was away for twelve years and don't have a hold on him at all."

"That's not what I meant, Sirius Black, and you know it!" Lupin sighed in exasperation. "He cares about you, but you know you won't ever be able to care for him the way you should! Albus has some kind of plan - constructed, I'm sure, to make him the most effective weapon possible - but you know you can't be here to see it, and you know I can't be the one to make sure he stays sane until the end, and you know his friends might not be enough to hold him together. If you're still around and in danger, he might not let himself open up to whomever Albus decides is right to care for him. He'll fixate on worrying about you instead of taking care of himself, and when you finally ended up getting captured - don't give me that look, Sirius, you know they'd get you at some point down the line - when you get captured and get executed by Voldemort or Kissed by the Dementors, he'll fall to pieces! It's got to be a clean break. Give him a chance to start out fresh again."

With a low moan, Sirius sunk onto Bill's bed. "Remus... Moony, I don't want to go..."

Lupin got up and crossed the room, coming to rest at Sirius' side. He snaked an arm around his friend's shoulders. "I know, Padfoot. But you have to. Besides, it'll give you a chance to start out fresh, as well. Get a job, get a nice little house in the park, never have to hide out in a cave again... maybe you'll even find yourself a girl, this time around. And then, when the war's over, Albus will tell me where you're hiding out and Harry and I will show up on your doorstep one afternoon and meet all the little kiddies."

"Me. With kids." He laughed softly. "I expect you'll want me to name the first one after you."

Lupin wrinkled his nose. "What? Name a child Remus? Are you mad?" He stuck out his tongue. "I'd never curse my worst enemy with my name. Mind you, yours wouldn't be winning any competitons... No, I think you'll name the first one after James. He deserves it."

"Yeah," Sirius whispered. "He does." His voice was lower, husky almost, with repressed tears. "You know I'm going to miss you, right?"

"I'll miss you too," Lupin replied.

Ron backed up from the door, mind numb in shock. Sirius was leaving Harry? That was impossible... This was supposed to be their first Christmas together as a family, not the only one. Lupin was wrong - Sirius leaving would crush Harry just as much as Sirius dying. It sounded as if he was going far away, and undercover, and if Harry really was dying... would they ever see each other again?

He retreated to his room and perched on his bed, trying to come to terms with what he'd heard. Harry, it seemed, would be getting a family. Dumbledore had said so to Lupin. It wouldn't be Lupin, since he was a werewolf, and it wouldn't be Sirius, because he was leaving. Sirius could never be free, and so he had to leave, so he was probably going undercover and changing his name, just like the spies in all the Muggle novels that Dean liked to read.

So now, he was left with two problems - who would be Harry's family, and how could he help Hermione find a cure? There had to be one, she was right. He wasn't going to sit back and let his friend waste away, even if it had seemed impossible, and he certainly wasn't going to let him want to stop living. The first thing he could do was help Harry with the potion, in order to keep him from seeing all the dreams and allow him to sleep at night. Then, he could owl Hermione and offer his help, and maybe even bully his dad into taking him over to the Ministry Archives to do some research.

Research. He was starting to sound like Hermione.

"Well, there's part of it," Ron mused softly. How about the answer to the second bit, then? Who would be Harry's new family? Ron knew that his mum would love the job - she'd practically adopted Harry the moment he'd become friends with Ron. However, there wasn't a chance his parents could afford to take Harry in. If his father had taken that job...

If his father had taken the bloody job, so many things would be easier to solve.

+

A little while later, Ron made himself go back downstairs to find Harry. His friend was sitting in one of the patched chairs in the living room and staring at the Christmas tree, a half smile on his face. Ron had the sudden urge to confess everything he'd heard - and normally, he would've - but he had the feeling that Sirius would want to be the one to break it to Harry. He didn't want to keep the secret, but in this case, it would probably hurt him less later on if he did. "Harry?" he asked softly, feeling a little bit guilty as he interrupted his friend's musing.

Harry glanced up, still smiling. "I'm looking forward to Christmas. I've never had a really big Christmas like this before. When Aunt Marge had Uncle Vernon's family for Christmas once, they left me at Mrs. Figg's - and all she did for Christmas was give extra ham to her cats."

Ron was struck silent, the apology wilting on his lips. It took him a moment to realize just what a cad he'd been, being jealous of Harry having everything - he didn't. Harry might've been the Boy Who Lived, he might have had a million Galleons locked away, and he might've been popular and smart - but he still didn't have something that Ron had. Ron had a family, and Harry was losing the only family he had.

For that matter, Ron had something even Malfoy would never have: five brothers and a sister who kept him company, even when they pulled pranks on him or told him to sod off; a mum who loved him very much and made sure he knew it, even if she hadn't the money to send him a package of sweets every week; and a father... well, a father who turned down a high paying job for no reason. Ron pushed the last thought aside, however and finally took a seat across from Harry. "I'm sorry," he said softly. "I shouldn't have said that."

Harry looked a little bit surprised. Ron didn't really blame him - after all, Ron's apology after the whole Champion debacle the year before hadn't been an admission of fault, but rather a refusal to talk about any of it. "Well, I wasn't thinking when I -"

"No," Ron cut in, determined to make it right. "It was my fault. I'm really angry that Dad has been passing up all these positions, but it's not your fault I'm poor. It's his fault."

Harry looked ready to disagree, but stopped short, a frown frozen on his face. Finally, he merely sighed. "Let's not talk about it anymore."

Ron nodded. "Right. Anyways, there's a big cauldron down in the basement, and Mum keeps a lot of potion ingredients around down there to dry. Do you have the recipe? We could make a whole batch of the potion for you, before we go to see Charlie."

The change of subject did wonders: Harry perked up, a hopeful smile crossing his face. "Do you mean... I can visit Charlie, too?"

"Of course you can!" Ron snorted. "What, do you think I'd leave you behind here? You can handle a dragon - Charlie was very impressed. He'd like to see you. Well, if he's awake to see anyone." He jumped up, pushing worries about his brother away. "C'mon, race you to the basement."

Harry was considerably better after a dose of the potion, whatever it was, and Ron helped him bottle up the extra for later. Ron was surprised by how easily they'd made it, even with George's help, considering his abysmal Potions grade at school - although most of his problem in there seemed to stem from the looming and snarky professor rather than the difficulty of the subject matter. "Enough to get you through until Christmas. We can make more then, if you want."

"This means a lot to me, you know." Harry grinned, sticking the flask in his pocket. "But hey, it probably means you won't wake up in the middle of the night with my screaming, either."

"Definitely a plus," Ron shot back, grinning in response to soften the comment. "It's not as if I sleep at school, anyways, with Neville snoring loud enough to wake a zombie, and Seamus rolling out of bed at two in the morning -"

"- and Dean trying to finish his homework before class, so he can spend all evening mooning after Parvati." Harry rolled his eyes. "He's ridiculous. As bad as Lavender and Parvati, if you ask me."

"Ron? Harry? Where are you hiding out?" Bill's voice boomed through the house.

They pounded up the basement steps and joined the others for dinner, Ron sitting next to Harry and Ginny across from them. Ron idly wondered if she'd put her elbow in the butter dish again, fauning over Harry, but quickly stopped thinking about it as Bill put dishes of food on the table. It looked nearly as good as a Hogwarts meal, and Ron dug in without waiting for anyone else. He wasn't called the Endless Stomach by Hermione for nothing.

"Blame Re if it tastes like old rubber," Bill joked, passing around a pitcher of pumpkin juice. "He actually cooked like a Muggle! Didn't use his wand once!"

Percy nearly choked, and Lupin grinned like a madman. "I can't cook with a wand, actually... I've always lived far too close to Muggles for it to be allowed. Can you imagine what an old Muggle lady would think if she looked out her window and saw me levitating pots all about the flat? She'd call the police on me for certain!"

"Ugh, the stupid dog stuck his head in my lap!" Fred exclaimed suddenly, launching out of his seat.

Harry burst out laughing, accidentally spitting juice across the table at Ginny - who turned bright red and fled the table. Ron lifted the tablecloth and glanced down at Snuffles, who was giving him an innocent look. "Profess- er, Remus, what's Snuffles going to eat?"

"Well, when he stops groping Fred, I'll let him have people food." Lupin winked at Ron and Harry kept laughing, wheezing for breath. George thumped him on the back soundly.

Snuffles shot out from under the table and sat obediently next to Lupin, resting his head on the man's knee and thumping his tail against the floor loudly. Ron couldn't help but join Harry in his hysterical laughter as Lupin murmured, "Here you are, you pervert," and offered the Animagus a hunk of chicken.

Bill had begun giving the dog suspicious glares again, so Ron quickly changed the conversation. "So, has anyone heard how Charlie is?"

That was easily enough to divert Bill's attention. "Dad sent an owl a few hours ago," he admitted. "Mum didn't want to leave the hospital for dinner. It's... well, the doctors aren't sure. He's burned very badly. And he's not awake."

Ginny was hovering around the door, probably trying to decide whether or not it was safe to sit down again. "Is he going to wake up again?" she asked quietly, giving voice to Ron's concerns.

Bill and Lupin exchanged a hesitant glance. "He's in a coma," Professor Lupin answered. "There's not much anyone can do but wait and hope."

"Do they know for certain that Voldemort wasn't a part of it?" Harry asked.

There was a long drawn out silence as Fred and George winced at Harry's use of the name, Percy slowly simmered red in indignation, Ginny's eyes widened at the thought, and Bill and Lupin exchanged another set of glances. Ron glared at Percy, hoping to silence the inevitable opinions, but nothing could stop Percy when he'd gotten something into his head. "That's nonsense! You-Know-Who isn't back, it's all something Dumbledore has cooked up to rouse the wizarding community against Minister Fudge -"

"He is back!" Ron snarled, launching to his feet with an immediate need to back his best friend. "He killed Cedric Diggory last year, and you know Dumbledore wouldn't tell lies like that -"

Bill cut in quickly. "We don't talk about this, alright? We don't agree on it, and it only makes things -"

But Percy took to his feet with a quick retort. "God only knows what Dumbledore would or would not do! Minister Fudge thinks that he might be trying to get his job, and is using the resurgence in Death Eater activities as an excuse -"

The fight spread to the twins, despite Bill's constant pleading interjections. Ron hadn't a clue which of the two spoke first, as they finished each other's sentences so quickly. "An excuse? What the bloody hell are you saying -"

"- he's killing people! He killed a bunch of Slytherin families -"

"- the ones who wouldn't follow him, and he even killed the Malfoys -"

"- and we all know that the bloody Malfoys were working for him -"

"- and Harry was there when Cedric died!"

"Do you think he's lying about it? Trying to get the glory?" Ron snapped. He turned to Harry, who had sunk into his seat a bit. Unmindful of his friend's embarrassment at being put on the spot, he charged on. "Well? Tell him what happened!"

Once again, everyone fell silent. Fred, George, and Ron all sat down, while Percy remained standing and looking down his nose at Harry. Ginny stepped away from the door to be able to see Harry, and Bill looked both curious and frightened at the same time. Lupin, however, got up and moved his chair closer to Harry. As he sat down and grabbed Harry's shoulder, he was the one to break the silence. "You don't have to, Harry." And then Ron realized why Harry had sunk down into his seat. He wasn't embarrassed. He was scared. Ron's heart seemed to sink into his stomach with the realization of what he'd made Harry relive.

Instead of speaking, Harry slowly rose from his seat and rolled up his left sleeve. A long, white scar marred his flesh, running from the inside of his elbow down nearly to his wrist. "Do you see this?" he asked softly, so quietly that Ron had to strain to hear, even at his side. His face was like stone, without any emotion showing at all. "See this, Percy? Cedric and I grabbed the trophy at the same time, because we helped each other on the last leg. It was a portkey. It took us both to a graveyard, where there was a Death Eater waiting. He killed Cedric and tied me to a gravestone, and he cut my arm and bled me into a cauldron. And he put something terrible into the cauldron along with my blood, and a bone from the grave beneath me, and his own hand, which he cut off himself. There was a spell, but he could barely say it, because he was in so much pain. And then, Voldemort was standing there. He had a body. He had his wand. And he untied me, he summoned his Death Eaters, he was planning to duel me to the death. And do you know what I did? I ran away and grabbed Cedric's body and grabbed the portkey. See this, Percy? He used _my blood_ to come back."

Percy was shaking, though Ron couldn't tell if it was from anger or fear. "That's ridiculous," he spat. "You don't seriously expect me to believe -"

"I thought that was the end of it," Harry continued, oblivious to Percy's words. Something seemed to be cracking through the mask, though Ron wasn't sure of the emotion - anger at Percy for not believing? Pain from reliving the night or guilt at not being able to save Cedric? Or... something else entirely? "Well, I knew I'd probably end up having to fight him at some point, because of who I am - and I hate who I am, Percy. But I thought maybe I would be able to finish school first; or have a quiet summer at the very least. But I was wrong about that too. You see, Percy, he used my blood, and now I keep Seeing the things he's doing to people, and I _feel_ the things he's doing to people. When he tortured Malfoy's dad, I saw it and I felt every curse. And last night, when he murdered Marcus Flint and his parents sometime after midnight because Marcus refused to be a Death Eater, I saw that too." Fred and George gasped softly and Percy's eyes widened. "Yes, Percy, there's not a chance in hell I could've found that out any other way. Go on, Apparate over to the Ministry and see if I'm right? Maybe then, you'll see what's actually happening."

And Percy, to Ron's surprise, stumbled away from the table and Apparated away.

Lupin jumped out of his chair and pulled Harry into a hug as Ron jumped up to lend him support as well, if he needed it. He looked drained, though nowhere near as tired as before he'd taken his potion. "I'm fine," he whispered, leaning into Lupin's embrace. Ron and Professor Lupin helped him to sit down again, with Lupin maintaining the contact of a hand on Harry's shoulder. He was lying, Ron could see that in the lines of pain on his face as the way he squeezed his eyes shut as he let Lupin hug him. He certainly wan't fine.

"Harry?" Bill asked, voice a croak of amazement, or horror, or maybe a combination of the two. He cleared his throat. "Harry, I believe you. And I would've run away, too."

Harry finally seemed to relax, then, as if afraid of what the other Gryffindors would've said at his admission of cowardice. Ron certainly didn't see it as such. Though he'd heard some of what had happened, he hadn't heard it the whole way through before - although he noticed that Harry had skipped over the duel, the one part he'd recited step by step for he and Hermione. Ron didn't blame him. It was horribly complex and just as draining as the rest of it. Ron was sitting close enough to hear Lupin whisper as he bent over next to his friend's ear, "I'm very proud of you, Harry. And if Percy can't believe you, you haven't failed in anything."

And suddenly, Percy was standing there again, his face blanched white. He stared at Harry as though he were a ghost, or You-Know-Who himself. "Marcus Flint," he started, his voice cracking audibly, "never arrived to Quidditch practice with Puddlemere United this morning. Today was supposed to be his last day. He was going into hiding tonight. Oliver Wood was going to be his Secret Keeper. But when Marcus didn't arrive for practice, Oliver went over immediately to his house... the Mark was there... three dead... God, Harry, how...?"

"I told you, Percy, he has my blood. We're connected through it." Harry's voice was low and steady again, and Ron envied his ability to remain calm.

Percy sunk back into his chair. "Oh, God... then he's really back... Minister Fudge is wrong, he's really back..."

No one spoke until the end of the meal. Lupin remained at Harry's side, silently supporting him, while Percy stared, white-faced, at his food. However, as they stood and began getting ready for their trip to visit Charlie at St. Mungo's, Ron saw Sirius curled in the corner, watching Harry mournfully - watching, and unable to help. And Harry didn't seem to notice as he let Lupin lead him over to the fireplace.

It should've been Sirius helping.


	11. Pain

* * *

****

Title: Our Fathers (10)  
**Author name:** Indarae  
**Author email:** hornbach@grinnell.edu  
**Category:** Drama  
**Sub Category:** Angst  
**Keywords:** Voldemort Harry Ron Draco Year-Five  
**Rating:** PG  
**Spoilers:** SS/PS, CoS, PoA, GoF, FB, QTTA  
**Summary:** Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Draco Malfoy ñ three boys coming of age in a world of terror face off against an uncertain future. A father dies, a father tells his story, and a father is made human against the backdrop of Voldemortís second rise to power and a mysterious discovery hidden in the history of Hogwarts itself.  
**DISCLAIMER:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.   
**Author notes:** Sorry for the lateness of this chapter — we've reached the joy of midsems here at my uni. As soon as I've hit Spring Break, I should be able to get much more of this loaded. Thanks for continuing to read, and please let me know what you think.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter Ten - Pain

The receptionist was peering over the counter at Harry suspiciously, as Harry surreptitiously smoothed his hair over his scar. "Are you _sure_ you're all relatives?" she demanded, eyes locked on Harry's, rather obviously, not Weasley-red hair.

"All related," Bill snapped, slipping an arm around Harry's shoulders possessively. "I thought family by adoption was included? Perhaps you'll step aside now?"

Harry blushed furiously and Ron grinned over at his eldest brother. Yes, Bill certainly had the right idea about things - no need to bring up the fact that it was Harry Potter standing in the reception area of St. Mungo's, nor a simple lie saying he was a cousin, which the nurse would've been forced to accept... no, Bill had chosen a half-truth which made Harry beam in acceptance. And Ron knew his mum and dad would approve of it - had Dumbledore allowed it, they would've taken in Harry years earlier.

The receptionist gave a sniff and reluctantly stepped aside. "Down the hall in room 203. I suppose your parents are in there, as well."

"She's a right sour bitch, isn't she," Fred whispered loudly when they were just out of range of her hearing. "I thought St. Mungo's was supposed to be a cheerful sort of place."

"You haven't been here before?" Harry asked, staring around at everything curiously.

Ron shook his head. "Fred and George usually didn't do anything horrible enough to warrant the emergency ward and it's too expensive for just a regular visit.. Mum would just lug us down the road to the mediwitch living in town."

"Do you think he'll be awake?" Ginny asked, getting back to the matter at hand. They passed a group of doctors talking in quiet tones and Bill led them through a set of double doors into a hallway identical to the last one, all in stark white paint.

"203," Bill murmured unnecessarily as he stopped in front of a plainly marked door. He turned hastily, eyes roaming over the six others standing there. "I just wanted to warn you... the burns did a lot of damage, and not all of it is repairable when the patient is asleep - well, that's what the doctors said, at least. And the new skin they grew - it's not the same colour as the rest, since it's not tanned..."

Ron glanced at the door worriedly, but Percy was the one who responded, his voice shockingly not in the least arrogant for once in his life. "We'll be alright, Bill. Do you want to go in first?"

Bill nodded and grabbed the doorknob, pushing into the room.

Ron's first impression of the room was the bright white glaring from all corners - so impersonal, and so unlike the walls of Bill and Charlie's room at the Burrow with two navy blue walls for Charlie's love of Puddlemere United, and two in garrishly bright emerald green to appease Bill's taste for the Kenmare Kestrels. Perched on a chair next to Charlie's bed was Mr. Weasley, and Mrs. Weasley was seated in a chair beside the tiny window, sleeping. And then there was Charlie, lying motionless on the white sheets, the barely imperceptible rise and fall of his chest as the only proof that he was alive.

Bill had been right in warning them all, Ron mused. Charlie's face was shaved of its customary beard, a fact which, in and of itself, was enough to make Ron stop abruptly. Charlie had grown it in his last year of Hogwarts. Ron had been four years old at the time; hardly old enough to remember the controversy which had sprung up around the appearance of the beard at Christmas that year, but subjected to numerous retellings of the tale every Christmas since. The owner of the beard thought that it looked distinguished and added to the rougish Quidditch Captain persona, which he'd cultivated so carefully, while Mrs. Weasley thought it made Charlie look like a bum. Mr. Weasley had quite liked it, according to quiet comments aside to Ron during the frequent retellings, but had been afraid to tell Molly that. The Great Beard Debate had continued for years, until even Mrs. Weasley admitted that she couldn't imagine Charlie without it.

And now, it was gone. In its place, a new growth of skin spread in stark white when compared with the deep tan of Charlie's cheeks and nose and forehead. The new skin cut across his neck and past the collar of the hospital shift, reappearing in a streak on the back of one of Charlie's hands, but not the other. To make the sight even less acceptable, his hair had been shaved, though a slight fuzz had begun to grow back since the accident a few days earlier. He looked freakish, like one of the characters on the funny shows on the telly at Lupin's flat. He didn't look like Charlie.

Mr. Weasley glanced up as everyone filed into the room and stood slowly from his chair. "Shh... your mum's asleep. She's barely slept since we heard." He rounded the bed and proceded to hug each Weasley, and Harry, who was practically a Weasley anyways. Ron scowled and squirmed away in embarrassment when his turn came, even though no one else in the room would've cared about the indignity of a 15-year-old boy being hugged. Harry didn't seem to mind at all.

Bill moved over to take his father's seat, reaching out to grab Charlie's hand. "Has he gotten any better since yesterday?"

After ruffling Harry's hair, Ron's dad rounded the bed again, perching on the edge near where Bill was sitting. He motioned for everyone else to come around behind him to listen. "It's easier to tell everyone this at once... I suppose I should start at the beginning, since most of you haven't heard the whole story... The mating season for dragons is midsummer, and they lay their eggs at the beginning of November. Usually, the nests of different females would be many miles apart, but because they are on a reserve in Romania, they're much closer together than they would naturally be. Two of the female dragons were put much closer to each other than they should've been, and they got into a fight - fire, aerial stunts, and everything else which goes along with it. Charlie and a number of other workers at the preserve went in on broomsticks to stop the fight before any of the eggs could be harmed and... Charlie swerved when he should have ducked."

Ron winced, an image forming in his mind of Charlie twisting and turning around an angry dragon, much as Harry had during the first Triwizard task. He'd been watching the whole thing, and all the compeditors but Harry had nearly been burnt to a crisp while trying to retrieve the golden egg that was the objective. Ron couldn't imagine doing something like that for a living, but Charlie loved the dragons...

Mr. Weasley leaned over and stroked Charlie's cheek tenderly. "The doctors told me that when he was brought here, most of his hair had been burnt clear off. He was a wreck... and they can't reconstruct his ribs until he's awake. The Skele-Gro won't work properly, they said. When he was hit by the dragon's flame, he fell from his broom. A friend of his, Martin, caught him across his broom, and it cracked half of his ribs in the impact."

"When will he wake up?" Ginny demanded. Ron turned to glance away from Charlie and noticed Ginny pacing the meager length of the room. He wasn't sure if she'd been doing it throughout the entire conversation or not. Percy was wringing his hands and Harry had a wince affixed to his face - probably remembering the time he'd been forced to use Skele-Gro to regrow all the bones in his hand. Ron certainly remembered that stunt, and remembered just how glad he'd been that _he_ wasn't the one lying there.

"Ginny..." Ron's dad gave a long sigh, grabbing Ron's attention instantly. A sigh from Mr. Weasley was seldom a good thing. "He's in a coma. The doctors don't know if he'll wake up again or not."

"Of course he'll wake up!" Ginny snapped, her voice growing shrill. George headed over to comfort her, but she pushed him away. "He has to wake up! It's Christmas in three days, he's got to argue with Mum about his beard again! And he has to tease me about Harry and try to steal my Transfiguration essay and -"

George finally managed to grab up his sister and she stopped talking, bursting into tears instead. Ron looked away, always uncomfortable when his sister started crying. He never knew what to do about her when she got that way. He caught Harry's eye and tried to communicate, but Harry was too busy flushing over Ginny's comment to catch it.

It was Percy who spoke up next, over the din of Ginny's sniffles. "How long will they allow us to keep him here?" It was an odd comment, Ron thought. Why wouldn't they let Charlie stay at St. Mungo's? He was sick, after all, and the hospital was normally paid for by taxes.

Apparently, his dad didn't find the comment odd at all - rather, he sighed again and the tips of his ears turned red in either anger or embarrassment. "It depends how long the money holds out... the treatments are above and beyond a normal visit. They don't get many dragon burns. But... hopefully he'll be awake in a few days and we won't have to deal with things like that."

Percy leaned on the back of Bill's chair, lowering his face enough to try to catch his father's eyes. "Dad, if you sent an owl to Minister Fudge, I'm sure he'd be happy to let you take the International Affairs position, yet -" 

  
"NO!" Mr. Weasley snapped, instantly catching Ron's full attention. Ginny's sniffing stopped, and Ron thought he heard his mum waking up as well. "I don't want the bloody job, Percy. Drop it."

That certainly wasn't an answer Ron was willing to take, nor Percy, it seemed. Despite the inappropriateness of arguing in a hospital room, Percy snapped right back at his father. "Those sodding plugs aren't worth Charlie's life!"

"No amount of money is going to wake him up, Percival! If this is his time, there's not a bloody thing an extra Galleon will do about it!"

"Not just an extra Galleon, an extra ten thousand a year!" Ron snarled, taking up his least favourite brother's argument without thought. If there was one thing which Percy and Ron had in common, it was their shared hate of poverty and of opportunities lost due to that state. For once, at least, they stood together. "With ten thousand bloody Galleons, we could take him anywhere for help!"

Mr. Weasley stood up abruptly, face flushing an even deeper red, which was mirrored by Percy and probably by Ron as well. "Percy, Ron, the hall. Now."

No one would meet Ron's eyes as he followed his father outside and until the door was closed quietly, not even his dad spoke a word. He turned to his sons and was silent for another moment before jumping into a withdrawn lecture. "This is a hospital. Your mother was asleep, your brother might be dying, and the two of you want to argue over money with me? This is neither the time nor the place for this..."

"And what will be the time?" Ron countered. "We've got guests, so you won't talk about it until they've left, and then I'll be back at school, and it'll be too late for you to change your mind about it!"

"I will not be changing my mind. The decision has been made. I am the head of the Department of Misuse of Muggle Artifacts, and my reasons for keeping that position are my own. Do you understand me?" Arthur Weasley was usually a man who would compromise on any point, be it job or family. Ron was shocked to find him refusing to even talk about his decision, when he'd normally burst into an explanation with only a word of interest.

Meanwhile, Percy had taken up the thread of argument again. "You could make something of yourself, Dad. Instead, you sit around with little Muggle toys and let the rest of us wallow in poverty! We're the ridicule of the Ministry; _you're_ the ridicule of the Ministry! Twenty years ago, there were people saying you'd be the next Minister of Magic, Mum told me! What happened to you?"

"Do you realize what it's like?" Ron continued, glancing at Percy for support. "Maybe not having money doesn't matter to you, but do you realize what it's like, going to school and wearing robes older than you are? I don't have to tell anybody what my name is, they can guess it from Bill's old robes!"

"No," he began quietly, "I don't know what it's like, I'll admit that. My parents had a good deal of money. My parents did not approve of your mother. In fact, my parents and your mother's parents were in a blood feud when we were at school together. My parents wrote me out of the Will. I last saw my parents in 1963, the day before the wedding. Your aunt Morgainne inherited all the money and married a Dark Wizard, not long after they disinherited my brother Ronald,too. So no, I don't know what it's been like, but there's a perfectly good reason I gave up the money, and I've been married to her for thirty-two years. We've gotten by. We weren't planning on seven children, but I bet the both of you are glad we had a child after Charlie, now aren't you? And now, this is the end of this conversation."

"Not bloody likely," Ron replied. He crossed his arms, trying to look as foreboding as possible, though it was unlikely his father would care one way or another. "I'm going to graduate and go make more money than anyone else in the family, somehow, and you know what? Maybe I won't give you a Knut of it!"

Percy winced visibly, glancing nervously at the closed door. "Ron, isn't that taking things a little -"

"Course it's not. He won't take a perfectly viable job in order to help us, why should I help him?" Ron leaned against the wall and settled in for an argument. He was exceptional at getting his father riled up.

He would be disappointed. Mr. Weasley's shoulders slumped and he seemed to deflate against the wall. "Christmas Eve, there will be five guests dining with us. Maybe six. I'm sorry you feel that way about it, Ron, but I would appreciate it if you could leave off your fussing until they have left. You will not mention the job to the guests. You will not mention how angry you are at me. Once they've gone home, you are welcome to yell as loudly as you like." He turned and grabbed the doorknob. "Discussion over." Mr. Weasley yanked the door open and stalked back into the hospital room, closing it quietly but swiftly behind him. 

  
Percy jumped in immediately. "Ron, I know you're upset - and I am too - but isn't this taking the money thing a bit too far? It's not as if he's taking a lower paying job. We've always been this poor."

"But don't you see...? This might be the last chance for him to take it! They might not offer him another, if he turns this one down. I'm so sick of being poor..." Ron kicked idly at the antiseptic white tile floor.

"Let's go back inside, Ron," Percy sighed after a long moment of silence. "Mum will want to ask how your term was."

Ron followed Percy back into the room, of course, and answered all of the questions his mother posed. He also sat and held Charlie's hand and talked quietly to Harry as the others took their turns. However, he utterly refused to look his father in the eye.

*

The next two days passed without significant event. Charlie didn't wake, Fred and George spent the time in an unusually solemn manner (though they did take a break to harrass the dog), Ginny helped her mum with the preparations for Christmas Eve dinner, and Bill tried to pry the identities of the four surprise guests from Lupin, who'd been told long in advance. Ron knew one of them, of course - Sirius was to take human form when the others arrived, and there would finally be an explanation of the circumstances to the rest of the family. As for the three others, Ron only had a guess: maybe it would be the family who would be taking Harry in? Mr. Weasley seemed annoyed by the whole affair, in the short period of time he spent away from St. Mungo's, but Mrs. Weasley seemed delighted to be cooking for such a large table and Ron couldn't tell whether she was looking forward to the guests as much as the food.

Ron and Harry spent the time locked away in Ron's room, wrapping presents and chatting about the Quidditch team's chances of winning the Cup, how much of a git Malfoy was, and how obnoxious the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Medea Menin, had proved to be over the previous term. The revelation on the stairwell beneath the Divination classroom, and the events leading up to it, seemed to have been forgotten completely. The dinner grew closer and preparations grew more frantic until the time for revelations finally arrived.

"Ron! Harry! We'll be having dinner in about an hour!" Mrs. Weasley's voice echoed up the stairs.

Harry jumped to his feet, pulling Ron up with him. "It's time! Sirius is going to change now... think your dad is ready to lock Percy up?"

"I'll do it myself," Ron grinned. "I'm surprised he'll actually come out of his room. He's still working on a bill that will be submitted to Fudge in the end, something about the Werewolf Classification. He never comes out of his room when he's half done."

The pair bounded down the stairs, Ron at Harry's heels, and plowed into the living room. Only Charlie and Percy were missing from the Weasley ranks. Harry took a seat beside Professor Lupin on the sofa, grinning over at Ron as he joined his friend. Ron grinned back and turned to watch Snuffles pacing the length of the room impatiently.

Bill, who was sitting on Lupin's other side, was watching the dog curiously. "Are we about ready for whatever this is, Mum? And I think someone should let the dog out..."

"Don't worry, he won't make a mess on the carpet," Lupin answered, turning to give a wink to Harry and Ron. Ron snickered along with Harry as Bill wrinkled his brow and went back to staring at the dog.

Percy finally arrived, last as always, and Ron's dad made sure his most uptight son was at his right hand. Ron noticed that he had his wand lying within easy reach. It had taken months and the death of a classmate to convince Percy that You-Know-Who was no longer a fairytale... could he possibly accept the truth of Sirius Black's innocence in one night?

"Well," Mrs. Weasley began, taking up a place in front of the fireplace, "our guests will be arriving in just a moment, but there's something all of you need to be warned of before that happens."

"One of them is a Muggle?" Fred asked.

George perked up immediately. "Oooh, is it Harry's cousin? Fred, where are the candies?"

Mrs. Weasley didn't seem to be amused. "No, it's not Harry's cousin and thank you, George, for reminding me to dig through your drawers for those foul things. No... one of our guests has a bit of a reputation which needs to be addressed before he's allowed to join us. He was accused of a very heinous crime, which he is innocent of, I might add... but the holiday could not be complete for Harry were he not to join us."

Ron laughed softly as Fred and George looked bored, Ginny curious, Percy taken aback, and Bill as if the answer was on the tip of his tongue, but eluding him. "I suppose it would be easier if he would just show himself, and we can answer all the questions at once." She looked over at the dog. "Well, is that enough of an introduction for you?"

And in an instant, Sirius was standing as a man and brushing off his wrinkled shirt. "I suppose I can live with it, Molly."

As expected, Percy was on his feet first. "Mum! Mum, that's Sirius Black!"

Mr. Weasley grabbed Percy by the shoulders and pulled him back into his seat. "Yes, Perce, it's Sirius Black. Now please, let him explain."

Sirius seemed ready to do so when something happened that Ron certainly hadn't counted on. Bill, usually the most easy-going of the Weasley brothers, didn't bother with his wand. Instead, he shot out of his seat and crossed the room in a bound, wrapping his hands around Sirius' neck. Ron couldn't hear what Bill was saying, but Mrs. Weasley could, and it wasn't anything he'd likely be repeating in the house soon, as she started screaming at him. It was Lupin who finally saved Sirius, crossing the room after Bill to pull Ron's eldest brother off of Harry's godfather. Bill, however, continued struggling and his words turned to a howl of anger. "James and Lily - how could you do it, you bastard!?"

Sirius rubbed at his throat and stepped back. "I didn't, Billy. I wasn't the Secret Keeper, I swear! We thought it would be too obvious, so I was to be the decoy while Peter performed the spell and went into hiding!"

"So you blew up a dozen people? How does that follow?!" Bill kicked at Lupin, trying to squirm away from the werewolf to launch another attack. "Re, let go of me! They were your best friends, how can you believe him?!"

"Because Peter wasn't dead," Lupin snapped, dragging Bill back toward the sofa. "I saw him with my own eyes, just a few months ago."

"_Wasn't_ dead?" Percy asked, furrowing his brow in confusion and taking the situation much more calmly than Bill. "Then does that mean -"

Harry stood up to gather attention. "Yeah," he said. "It means he's dead now. Voldemort murdered him when he was unable to bring Malfoy to him. Er, Draco Malfoy, I mean. That was the night Voldemort killed Lucius. Peter's dead now."

"And hopefully rotting in Hades for what he did," Sirius finished. "It's a long and utterly depressing story. I'll tell it in full to those who want, later on, but to summarize... James, Peter and I became Animagi to help Remus when he was a wolf. I'm a large dog and was able to escape Azkaban because the dementors do not recognize the presence of animals. I've been hiding out ever since, and as Remus' dog for the past six months. Good enough?" When no one responded immediately, he crossed the room and pulled Harry to his feet and into a crushing hug. "'Lo, Harry. 'Lo, Ron."

"Hi," Harry grinned.

"Can we eat now?" Ron put in, attracting a laugh from Fred and George. "I mean, Sirius hasn't eaten anything but dog chow in ages! He should eat... and I'm starving!" Well, he was always starving, so that didn't seem to be a surprise to anyone.

Mrs. Weasley shook her head. "Not quite yet. We're waiting for the others, yet."

Ron watched Sirius take a few steps down the sofa and crouch in front of Bill and Lupin. "I swear to you, I'd never hurt James, nor harm a hair on Harry's head. He's my godson... Do you believe me, Billy?"

Bill glanced at Sirius for a moment before turning to look at Lupin. "Why didn't you tell me, Re?" His voice cracked and he fell silent for a moment to compose himself. "I've been going about thinking Peter was a hero for fourteen years..."

"... and I thought Sirius was the villain for twelve," Lupin finished. "I wasn't allowed to tell anyone. Dumbledore said so... it was 'need to know' information. The more who knew, the more likely it was that someone would catch up to him."

Bill nodded slowly. "I'm sorry I tried to strangle you, Sirius."

"I'm sorry I put itching powder in your sheets your first night at Hogwarts," Sirius responded solemnly.

"That was you?" Bill demanded, the seriousness of the situation melting away immediately. Sirius was good at that sort of thing, Ron mused. "But I thought it was Davy Gudgeon...!"

"Nope!" Sirius grinned. "It was his itching powder, however. I... borrowed it."

"They'll be here in just a moment," Mrs. Weasley put in. Sirius stood up in response and rounded the couch to stand behind Harry. "Now, I want the whole lot of you to be on your best behavior. I doubt they're your favourite people, but they've no one else to spend the holiday with, and the wards on Hogwarts are being strengthened tonight, so they certainly can't stay there..."

Ron blanched and leaned over to whisper to Harry. "Oh no," he moaned. "It's McGonagall, isn't it!" Harry winced in silent agreement.

It wasn't McGonagall... it was much, much worse. Out of the fire tumbled none other than Professor Snape and - to make the blow even more unbearable - he was followed by Draco Malfoy. Ron gaped, completely speechless, as Snape turned to his mother and nodded politely. "Thank you for the invitation, Molly. Albus will be along in a few moments. He needed to make sure all the house-elves had been relocated for tonight."

"Noooo," he heard Fred moaning softly. Ron agreed. His attention, however, was riveted on Malfoy. "Wow... he looks like shit," Ron murmured to Harry. Not that he spent much time looking at Malfoy, of course, but he really did look terrible - worse than Harry, with deep bags under his eyes, ill-kempt hair as compared to the glossed back tresses of months past, and a complexion nearly as sallow as Snape's. They certainly suited each other.

Malfoy glared over at Ron and Harry briefly, until he focused on the man standing behind the sofa. His mouth dropped open and he grabbed Snape's shoulder. "Professor! Sirius Black!"

A chorus of the five youngest Weasleys and Harry responded. "He's innocent, Malfoy."

Snape glanced over to look at the rest of the room, and the expression of utter despair which appeared on his features at his first sight of Sirius Black was one Ron knew he would cherish for years. "Black," he sneered. "Why is it that everywhere I go -"

Mrs. Weasley cleared her throat loudly. "It's Christmas, Severus. Happy Christmas Eve... why don't we all go into the kitchen, then? If Professor Dumbledore will be joining us, we'll leave room for him... Sirius, would you help me with the food?"

Sirius and Snape exchanged another glare of loathing before the former followed Mrs. Weasley out of the room. It seemed that his mum's ability to diffuse arguments extended much farther than the confines of the Weasley family, Ron mused. Harry leaned over and murmured, "Does this mean I have to be nice to Malfoy?"

"No nicer than I plan to be," Ron shot back, doing his very best to ignore Malfoy as he stood uncomfortably on the hearth.

Snape took a few steps forward as Bill and Lupin rose to their feet. "Hallo, Severus," Bill said with a surprising smile, offering a hand. "How's teaching?"

"No better than ever," he replied with a snort, shaking Bill's hand briskly. "And Egypt? Still working for Gringotts?"

"Of course! Although, the Jerusalem branch is looking for a curse breaker, and I've about covered all the known magical archaeological sites 'round Cairo. Don't you have family in Israel?" Bill gestured for Snape to follow, along with Lupin.

"Yes, an uncle in Tel Aviv..." They disappeared into the kitchen and Snape's voice - thankfully - trailed off. Fred, George, Ginny, and Percy made a quick escape as well, Percy leaning down to Ron's ear to hiss, "Remember, Mum said to be on your best behavior. No hexing the Slytherin."

And so Ron and Harry were left in the living room with Malfoy. He supposed they were probably meant to be friendly to him but Ron didn't see how it was possible. It was _Malfoy_, after all. "Stuck with the Muggle-lovers for the holiday, Malfoy? Gone down in the world a bit?" Ron couldn't help but grin. Needling Malfoy (and coming out on top) was one of his favourite pasttimes.

"Ron," Harry hissed, "Snape's in the kitchen -!"

"It was you sorry lot or Snape's uncle in Tel Aviv, and at least the lot of you speak proper English." He gave a halfhearted sneer before staring back at the ground.

Malfoy standing there, unable to hide behind the muscle power of Crabbe and Goyle, was a target too perfect for Ron to overlook. "Well, I'm certainly surprised that Snape hasn't passed you off on relatives yet. Who'd want to deal with a bigot like yourself, after all?"

"He is a relative," Malfoy snapped. "We share a grandfather five generations back. He's probably the closest relative I have, at the moment. And isn't this supposed to be a time of bloody good cheer? Just sod off!" He turned and stalked across the room, disappearing into the kitchen.

Ron stared in his wake, slack-jawed. Malfoy, retreat from an insult-war? Yet another shade of grey crept into his black-and-white world. "Harry, did he really just...?"

Harry sighed loudly. "He has no choice but to be here. Snape's his godfather, as little as he seems to want the job. Let's just ignore him, please?"

Ignoring Malfoy was easier said than done, especially when the git was sitting directly across from Ron. Mr. Weasley had managed to anger his son even more - on top of placing him across from Malfoy and Snape at the dinner table, he'd also separated him from Harry and forced him to sit between Percy and Fred, as if forcing his family into continued poverty wasn't enough. It was a dinner never to be forgotten in the annals of Weasley holiday history - only Bill managed to seem cheerful, and he was forced to mediate between Sirius and Snape the entire meal. Mr. Weasley spoke in quiet tones to Lupin and Professor Dumbledore, probably about Harry, while Ginny managed to keep Harry from listening in on the conversation. She also managed to sink her elbow into the butter dish again.

Meanwhile, Percy was attempting to entertain Sirius with an outline of Bill 1996H103 Against the Werewolf Beast Classification, Bill was deep in discussion with Snape about some Egyptian artifact, and Fred and George appeared to be silently communicating across the table - no doubt trying to poison Snape. And that left Ron to glare at Malfoy. To make it worse, Malfoy didn't bother to glare back.

Ron ran over the dozens of childish things he could do to get Malfoy's attention in the back of his head. He could launch food into his face... maybe he could 'accidentally' kick him under the table... would it be tasteless for him to mock the Slytherin about his lack of friends? Probably... He poked at his food with a deep scowl. Malfoy was only a meter away, and he could do nothing to provoke him.

Dinner was drawing to a close when Snape stood up and moved around the table to stand behind Harry and Lupin. Ron watched him take a vial from his breast-pocket and bend between the two to dump it into Harry's cup of pumpkin juice. "One dose of Hyupnos Draught. Happy Christmas." He gave a sneer - although, Ron mused, it could've been a failed attempt at a smile - and rounded back to his own chair.

Hyupnos Draught? Was that the name of what Harry was taking? But Ron knew he'd already taken a dose of it for the day... he leaned around Fred, trying to catch Harry's gaze with a look of warning. It was never safe to double the dose of a potion, especially if you didn't know what you were doing... but Harry merely shrugged at Ron's unvoiced question and downed the entire glass of juice and potion at once.

Ron frowned, hoping the double dose wouldn't do anything harmful to his best friend, and accidentally met Malfoy's eyes as he moved his gaze back to the food on the table. He'd looked at Malfoy before, of course, dozens of times but that sudden exchange of glances gave new depth to the least expected of people. Instead of hate and loathing, Ron saw... sadness. Maybe envy too, but definitely a deep despair.

Malfoy looked away, but Ron didn't seem to be able to force himself to do the same. He remained staring in surprise at the top of Malfoy's messy blonde head until Snape rose once more and complimented Mrs. Weasley on her excellent cooking. "And thank you for inviting the both of us, Molly. I know how strained your relationship was with Draco's father, and I am very glad it could be looked over in this case. It was certainly more pleasant than a meal at my uncle's would've been."

"No, no, it was my pleasure, Severus!" Ron's mum beamed, standing as well. "Must you be going, then?"

"I did promise my uncle that I'd bring Draco for a few hours, I'm afraid. Thank you very much for saving me from being forced to spend more than that in his presence. And good luck in Egypt, Bill. Draco? Shall we?" Snape moved back from the table and, to Ron's relief, Malfoy didn't look up as he went to join the professor.

Mrs. Weasley led the pair from the kitchen, and Ron was only able to catch part of what she was saying as they headed for the fireplace. "Oh, we _will_ have to do this again sometime..."

Obviously Fred had heard as well, as he suddenly slumped forward and banged his head against the table. "Noooo," he moaned softly, "I'm supposed to leave Hogwarts and never see the wanker again..."

George echoed the sentiment. "Oh, absolutely spiffing, now I've got to spend a happy holiday with the master of all thing dour and the Malfoy brat for the rest of my life. Bloody hell."

The twins had spoken too loudly - Mr. Weasley stared disapprovingly down the table, but Professor Dumbledore's eyes were twinkling in mirth. Harry met Ron's gaze with a great deal of sympathy although, Ron mused, maybe Harry would have to deal with the horrors as well. This would hardly be his last Christmas with the Weasleys, now that there had been a first.

Lupin was next to leave the table, dragging off Fred and George to explain to them who exactly Padfoot, Moony, Prongs, and Wormtail of Marauder Map fame happened to be - Ron thought he heard one of them scream, "We're not worthy!" Sirius then got up as well and rounded the table to where Harry was sitting. Ron finally realized that godfather and godson had been separated by half a dozen people for the entirety of dinner. Did that, then, mean that his mum and dad knew what he'd overheard as well? The convict knelt and murmured, loudly enough for Ron to hear, "Can we go talk? Upstairs? There's a few things I've got to tell you."

Harry grinned broadly and nodded, practically bouncing out of his chair. Sirius didn't return the grin, and Ron realized just what they were about to discuss. He was going to tell Harry he was leaving. It seemed that smile would be gone soon enough.

Ron sighed and sunk into his seat to wait for Harry's heart to be broken. Had Harry ever had a happy Christmas? It seemed this would be another to go down in the books, as 'worst Christmas ever.'

A/N: Well, there's chapter ten! And here's the special cookie! It happens just after the end of this section (Part Two: Home for the Holidays) but can be read directly after chapter nine without a problem. Enjoy!

Title: Requiem for an Enemy: A Companion Piece to "Our Fathers"

Author: Indarae

Rating: PG for dark overtones

Summary: The first funeral of the new era of rising Dark leaves a Weasley son in guilt over the deceased.

A/N: I read a piece, a while ago, about Marcus, Oliver and Percy all sitting in a memorial, talking. It's been something that's hung with me for a while. Unfortunately, I can't find the story - if you have an idea of what I'm talking about, leave a note? Anyways, I've had this popping around in the back of my head since I wrote the chapter of 'Our Fathers' that happens at the same time. There, it's Ron watching his brother learn of Marcus' death. I wanted to explore why the death hit him as it did, and this was my chance.

*

It's been a long time since I've had to attend a funeral. The first was long ago, when I was only a baby, and Dad's sister was murdered. I say murdered, but it was her own fault. Is that a terrible thing to say of my own aunt? I never knew her - she was married to a Death Eater, Dad told me. She betrayed our family and was betrayed in turn by her own kind. We went to the funeral anyway. For us, the bonds of family were always stronger than Light or Dark.

Then there was Uncle Eugene's funeral. He was Mum's brother, the eldest of them, and was a lot like Bill, according to Mum. It was when I was eleven - I was allowed to take the train from Hogwarts back to King's Cross in the middle of the week, and I had to find my way around the London Underground on my own. That funeral I remember - he was a charm tester, working with one of the broom companies, and had been the victim of a terrible accident. I remember crying, and holding Ginny on my lap so Mum could walk to the front of the church to give a eulogy for her brother. We buried him after, and it was raining. I'll never forget the rain - Bill said God was weeping. I didn't believe him.

Only two funerals I've had to attend. Until now, that is. I suppose I've been very lucky - Dad lost his entire family by the time Bill was out of Hogwarts. I was just too young to remember Uncle Ronald or Aunt Morgainne, and my existence hadn't even been decided upon when Dad's parents died. And then there were the Troubles in the 70's - I only remember the end, but I remember the fear. At night, Mum locked the doors and we cowered in the basement of the Burrow. She was always afraid. Bill and Charlie were off at school by the end of it, by the day Harry Potter defeated the Dark Lord, so Mum wasn't as worried about them.

She was worried about us, because we were on You Know Who's list. Weasleys have always been Gryffindors, and so have McDougals, Mum's family. The Dark Lord was notoriously hard on Gryffindor families - he seldom tried to convert us, he only killed.

It's amazing I still have family left at all.

And now I've another funeral to attend. Not family, but a kid - no, he's my age. A man I once called a friend. It was such a long time ago... We sat on the train to Hogwarts together, me and Oliver and him. We'd lived on the same street as well, before his family moved away. The best of friends, the three of us - Mum had my desk covered with pictures of days by the pond or the three of us dressed up for church together, until I put them all away.

Oliver and I ended up in Gryffindor together, but he... didn't. And that was the end of that, no matter how much I regret it now. It's much too late to fix it, anyway.

We were all invited to the funeral - only two years out of Hogwarts, we've barely had time to leave our old friends behind and make new ones. Oliver sat next to me, all done up in his Puddlemere United jersey, as he hadn't the time to change between the game and the service. Penny was sitting in front of me, with the other Ravenclaws. Maryam and Sarah, Matthew and Josephus, Mandie and Brandon - all the Gryffindors of my year sat in our pew. The Hufflepuffs were behind us, and the Slytherins across the aisle, how it had always been.

It's sad, how House still holds us apart. Only two Slytherins of our year showed for the funeral, even though he was the first of us all to die. And it wasn't a natural death - the vicar blamed it on suicide, on starting his new job but unable to leave being a child behind - but I know better. He was murdered.

I didn't believe it, at first. Harry Potter told me. I guess he's a Seer - what isn't the boy? - but I've spent the past six months trying to believe the world was still safe. I met Oliver, he in tears, when I Apparated to the Ministry to see if Harry's words were true. "Perce, we all believed. Why didn't you?" he accused me. But the deaths weren't my fault - three, he and his parents, at the hand of the Dark Lord himself.

He was always closer to Oliver. At the funeral yesterday, Oli went up to the front to give one of the eulogies. "When we were little, we were best friends. The two of us - and Percy - we all lived on the same street, did everything together... he was always so good at any sport. It turned into an obsession, for the both of us. We faced off in school, always trying to be the one to come out on top. Then we left Hogwarts and ended up on the same team. We were both supposed to play, this morning. His space was empty," he said. He'd had more to say, he told me later, but he burst into tears and couldn't go on talking. I always thought Oliver was the bravest of the three of us, and he was the strongest, and I was... I was just Percy. The studious one, I suppose. I always watched when they faced off, and never got in the middle of it.

I'm still that way. It took me until this death to step back and see what a blind fool I've been. It turns out he was the strongest and the bravest. The Dark Lord showed up and threatened to kill him if he didn't become a Death Eater... and he didn't. He stood up to the Dark Lord. He's dead, and his parents died with him, but he stood up for what he believed, even at the end.

And we thought he'd be the first to give in.

It embarrasses me now, to think on the things I said to my brothers. I warned them away, after he ended up in a different House, even though Fred and George had known him well, too. They took up the cry as I did. Oliver knew better. "We'll have to beat him in the House Cup, of course," Oliver had said, "but he's still the same bloke we kicked around a football with." And he was, but I was blinded by the colours he wore.

After the funeral, Oliver was still crying. Sarah hugged him, and Brandon told him to keep his chin up. "He was the first," Mandie said, standing and staring up to the altar. "The first of our class to fall... he won't be the last, you know."

"He was never the last at anything," Oliver whispered. "He was supposed to play first string this morning - not me."

The rest of us looked away. Oli had the most reason to grieve of the rest of us. Josephus had hated him for the prank he'd played first year - he planted Sneezing Powder in Josephus' pumpkin juice, because he'd thought it was mine. Mandie and the girls thought he was just the same as the rest of his crowd: crass, sneering, and cold. Brandon hadn't said much, one way or another, but Brandon hadn't known him the way Oliver and I did. Or the way I used to, and Oliver did until he died a week ago. "Why didn't you speak a eulogy?" Oliver asked, after the others had gone, and we sat alone in the church. I didn't know how to respond... but then I realized. I didn't speak for him because I didn't think myself worthy anymore. I spent six months ignoring the evil that had killed him - six months that could've been spent working to destroy that evil. I know I think too much of myself, but if I'd been working for Dumbledore, maybe my childhood friend wouldn't be dead.

Christmas was four days ago. Today should've been my first day back to work, but I told Minister Fudge I couldn't make it. Oliver came to my door instead, and we walked down the street to the cemetery at the edge of Ottery St. Catchpole. The ground is still fresh where he was buried. His parents are across the cemetery - they had plots ready, should they die - but he was too young to go. Oli and I sat together and planted a rosebush in the fresh soil of the grave to finally say goodbye.

"What if I'd been the Slytherin of the three of us?" Oliver asked me. "How would you have looked on me? How would he?"

"It could only have been him," I said. And it was true - he'd been ruthless, even as a child. But, no doubt, I'd have treated Oliver as I treated all the other Slytherins. I'd always been taught that they were evil - look what happened to Aunt Morgainne, when she married one - but one Slytherin has finally proved me wrong.

"We were so stupid," Oliver went on. "All we saw was the table he sat at, and the people he sat next to, and the colour he wore. It was stupid to stop being his friend over something an animate hat said."

"It was stupid," I said. "And I was stupid for forgetting a friend."

"We couldn't have saved him," Oliver insisted, and I know he was right. It was the Dark Lord's wand that took his life, no matter the guilt I feel. Had we been friends after starting Hogwarts, he might've been killed earlier, in fact - a Slytherin doesn't befriend a Gryffindor. It's the mark of a traitor.

But yesterday, after the funeral, the two Slytherins who attended crossed the aisle. "He was a hero," Medea said. "He stood up against something he couldn't possibly beat."

"We never thought he was one," Penny whispered. Her eyes were puffy. Mine were too, I'm sure. Oliver was still crying. "But if it's true... if You Know Who came after him... won't you be next?"

Medea nodded. "I can't go home, not after being seen here. Neither can Phillip."

Brandon spoke up for the first time since before we left Hogwarts. "I'll hide you until the Headmaster can find a better place." Brandon's dad died in the Troubles.

And then Phillip looked over at me and smiled. "He always said you and Oliver had been good friends." I nodded and cried again - the guilt was overwhelming. Had I been a better friend, I already would've been fighting against the Dark Lord.

I have plenty to make up for, Marcus. That's why I'm sitting at your grave, instead of working like I should. Oliver's crying again. But we won't forget what you did - even if the world does. Rest in peace, my friend.

Review!


	12. Regret

****

Title: Our Fathers (11)  
**Author name:** Indarae  
**Author email:** hornbach@grinnell.edu  
**Category:** Drama  
**Sub Category:** Angst  
**Keywords:** Voldemort Harry Ron Draco Year-Five  
**Rating:** PG  
**Spoilers:** SS/PS, CoS, PoA, GoF, FB, QTTA  
**Summary:** Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Draco Malfoy ñ three boys coming of age in a world of terror face off against an uncertain future. A father dies, a father tells his story, and a father is made human against the backdrop of Voldemortís second rise to power and a mysterious discovery hidden in the history of Hogwarts itself.  
**DISCLAIMER:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. The "plugs and outlets" speech in this chapter is from a fic of the same name, on sugarquill.net  
**Author notes:** Just a quick thanks to all the reviewers. You make my day! 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter Eleven - Regret

When neither Sirius nor Harry reappeared after nearly an hour, Ron figured it was probably safe for him to go up to his room and lug the Christmas presents for his family back downstairs. He passed Percy's door - shut tight, and with the room's occupant likely hard at work on the Werewolf Reclassification Bill - and Ginny's room, but heard voices when he reached the third floor landing. He felt like a slimy Slytherin sneaking up on Harry and Sirius, but he certainly didn't want to interrupt anything important.

As he peered around the door, however, he decided he'd come at exactly the wrong time. Harry was still grinning, but Sirius was looking more uncomfortable than ever. "Alright, I've told you everything I've done this year... but I don't know if you were actually listening. What's wrong, Sirius?"

Ron knew he should've left to leave them to it, but some unknown force made him stay put. "Harry," Sirius started in a tone that reminded Ron strongly of the 'plugs and outlets' sex speech from his father over the past summer - hesitant and strained. "Harry, do you remember that talk we had the first time we met, at the Shrieking Shack? When we were taking Peter up to the school, before Remus transformed?"

Harry nodded, his grin growing wider if anything. "Of course I remember! You said that when you were freed, I'd get to come and live with you." Sirius winced and Harry's face suddenly melted in horror. "Wait... are you trying to tell me that you... you don't want me?"

"No!" Sirius replied, grabbing Harry's shoulder and giving a squeeze to emphasize what he was saying. "No, that's not it at all! I want that more than anything in the whole world. Ever since I escaped, I've been trying to do my best to look after you. I love you, Harry, and I will always wish that you could come live with me, but there's a horrible problem."

Harry had turned as pale as a ghost. "There can't be a problem. After Voldemort is gone -"

"Peter's dead," Sirius broke in. His voice cracked loudly and he looked away from Harry with an expression akin to shame. "Peter was the only proof we had of my innocence. I wanted you to come live with me when I was freed... but I'll never be freed."

"No!" Harry jerked away, shaking his head frantically. "We'll still get you out! Professor Lupin saw Peter - they could give him Veritaserum in court, and he'd tell them that Peter was alive, and he even confessed -"

Sirius slumped against the wall with a loud thump. "Remus is a werewolf."

"And what does that have to do anything?" Harry snapped. Ron barely restrained himself from jumping in and giving his opinion on the matter - of _course_ it was important; he was nice enough as a man, but he turned into a bloody monster!

"It has everything to do with it," Sirius snapped back, looking to be on the edge of exploding into anger. "I know it's harder for you to understand this, since you were raised by the bloody Muggles, but just think for a moment - you _know_ what the other students said when they found out what he was! You were there! People don't trust werewolves!"

Harry pulled back, retreating across the room to sit on Ron's bed. "It doesn't matter if they trust him or not, it's a potion that would make him tell the truth no matter what it was -"

"Except it can't be used as evidence in a court room because he's NOT A BEING!" Sirius shouted. Ron ducked back as Sirius jumped up and started pacing. He would be in so much trouble if he was caught... "Werewolves are beasts, Harry! Beasts! I know you care about him and he's never been anything else to you but a human, but that doesn't change what he is! Why else do you think Dumbledore sent you to the bloody Dursleys? You're not allowed to live with him, by wizarding law, otherwise you would've had a perfectly normal life and until Percy finishes that damned bill he's working on, Remus will still be a beast! Beasts cannot testify, beasts cannot adopt the children of beings, beasts are not given jobs, and people hate them!"

"I didn't know that," Harry said quietly. Ron chanced a peek around the doorframe and found Harry slumped against the wall, still sitting on Ron's bed, and Sirius collapsed on the floor by Harry's. Harry's face had gone back to the tired, gaunt expression of the past few weeks at school. "As you just said, I grew up with the Dursleys. There's no way I could've known that."

Sirius drew his knees up to his chest, looking to be no more than a frightened teenager rather than a grown man. "I'm sorry, Harry. I shouldn't have yelled like that. The way werewolves are treated... it's something I've hated for years. British wizards are just terrible about it... he was born on the continent, you know, and bitten there. He's treated much better when he's there. I wondered if he stayed for James, sometimes." He gave a low sigh, cradling his face against his knees. "Look at me, going off about it again. I would've made a horrid father anyways."

Harry winced, but his face grew a bit more hopeful. "Will you still visit me in Hogsmeade? I don't know where Professor Dumbledore wants me to go over the summer, but maybe I could sneak out and -"

"I can't," Sirius cut in, looking away from Harry. "I'm being sent away from England. Dumbledore is playing Secret Keeper for me. I get fake papers and all... I only hope he's not sending me to Germany. My German is horrid." Harry didn't respond, his face a twist of horror and anger. Sirius kept talking anyways, perhaps to fill the long silence. "He's not told me where I'm off to yet, or I'd tell you myself. But he told Remus that when the war's over, you'll be able to come visit me, where ever it is. I might not look like myself - Lord knows what Albus wants to do to my face to disguise me - but I'm already looking forward to seeing you then. I bet you'll look just like James."

"When are you going?" Harry croaked. He swallowed and started biting his lip, trying to keep the tears from flowing. Ron winced and started backing away slowly, taking the stairs as quietly as he could. This was something he shouldn't be watching. It was wrong.

"The day after tomorrow," he heard Sirius reply before he ducked into Ginny's room.

"Ron!" she shrieked, throwing her quilt over a pile of half-wrapped gifts, "What are you doing?"

Ron turned around, face pale. "I heard - Sirius is leaving England - I shouldn't have -" He winced, trying to fight down the waves of guilt.

Ginny looked at him suspiciously, her eyes seemingly drawn over to the shut door after a moment. "Ron... where's Harry going to live...?"

"Nobody knows. Not with Sirius, I guess," Ron sighed. "I was going to go up to bed... do you think I should let him be alone?"

"No. I think he needs you. You're his best friend." Ginny didn't seem resentful of it, which rather surprised Ron as he thought she was still infatuated with Harry, but he supposed she was right. Harry probably did need him.

There was a shout followed by a creak on the steps and Ron turned to open the door a crack. He caught a glimpse of Sirius disappearing down the steps into the living room with his shoulders slumped defeatedly. Without bothering to say anything else to his sister, he slipped into the hall and closed the door, taking the steps up to the third floor two at a time.

He peeked around the door to find Harry still sitting on his bed. "Harry...?" he asked hesitantly. "Are you alright?"

Harry looked up miserably, not seeming to be embarrassed by the tears on his face. "Sirius is leaving," he whispered before dissolving into another sob. "And I yelled at him... but he's leaving England, Ron..."

At a loss for how to handle a crying Harry - it was usually Hermione who ended up in tears out of the three of them - Ron stood dumbly for a moment before deciding what to do. It was Harry, though. Harry was like a brother. So he'd be Harry's brother. He crossed the room and sat next to Harry on the bed and hugged him, just like Charlie and Bill used to do when Fred and George used to hurt him.

+

Christmas morning dawned grey and dreary. Ron woke with a start, blinking groggily and glancing around in confusion. His back hurt. He was sitting up. And his shoulder was aching and wet.

Ron turned to look over at his shoulder. He couldn't quite remember falling asleep, but it seemed as though he'd done so with Harry still slumped against him, as a pair of thick-rimmed black glasses were digging into his shoulder bone. As to his shoulder being wet... Harry was drooling. "Eww," Ron grumbled, grabbing Harry's available shoulder and shaking him fiercly. "Wake up, you wanker, you're drooling on my shoulder!"

Harry jerked awake as well, glancing over at Ron bleerily. "Wha...? Ron, why are you sitting on my bed?"

"You're on my bed," Ron countered. He jumped up and yanked his shirt off over his head, digging around under the bed to try to find a clean - and dry - one. "Fell asleep talking, I guess. My back hurts," he whined.

Blinking owlishly, Harry furrowed his brows. "What happened?" Remembrance hit him all at once and he blushed. "Hey, Ron? I'm sorry I went all..."

Ron blushed, too. He knew that dealing with emotion really wasn't his strong point. It was over, and while everything wasn't exactly right with the world, it looked a lot better in the morning. "Yeah. It's alright. Don't mention it." He pulled on his shirt and started piling the presents for his family into his arms as he thought about everything Harry had said the night before. Ron knew that the Dursleys were terrible, but Harry hadn't ever told him just _how_ terrible before, or just how guilty Harry had felt when he'd been chosen as a Triwizard Champion, and Ron hadn't believed his innocence. And he hadn't known that Harry heard his mum and dad getting killed every time a dementor came near. And he hadn't known that the Sorting Hat had tried to put Harry in Slytherin. Harry hadn't told him how Tom Riddle looked almost identical to how Harry had matured, and that some of the teachers seemed to be afraid that Harry would be the next Dark Lord if they weren't careful, and he hadn't realized just how much Harry really hated _being_ Harry Potter...

He'd known Harry for five years, but he hadn't _known_ him. Ron had been just a little jealous for all five years of Harry's money and fame, things that Ron wanted more than almost anything... but he hadn't realized how jealous Harry was of _him._ After all, Ron had the one thing Harry hadn't had the chance to have. He had a family.

"Er... Happy Christmas," he said lamely, scuffing his foot. It seemed a rather ridiculous thing to say after Harry'd just been told that his godfather was being sent away and practically poured out his soul, but there wasn't much else he could do to try to cheer Harry up.

It seemed to help some, at least. A bleak smile pushed its way to the surface and, though he looked as depressed and mournful as ever, at least he didn't seem to be at death's door. "Happy Christmas, Ron. What time is it? I was hoping that maybe we could sneak downstairs and make some more of the potion before anyone else wakes up."

Ron frowned and glanced at the clock beside his bed. "It's still early. But Harry... I was meaning to talk to you about that. Maybe we should wait for a while. I mean, you took a double dose at dinner, and that's never a good idea -"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Ron, you sould like Hermione. There's nothing wrong. I just want another dose before this one wears off. My scar starts to hurt the moment it does."

"Right," Ron sighed. He'd send off a note to Hermione with the potion's name, Hipnis or something, and maybe she'd be able to help find out side-effects. "I don't know if there will be enough time. How about after breakfast? Nobody will notice if we sneak downstairs after the presents are open, but they will if we're late to open them... besides, George won't wake up to help us right now. He's harder to wake up than Fred."

"Say, Ron... speaking of your family... have you made up with your dad yet? I mean, it's just a job." Harry got up and starting digging around in his bag, leaving Ron unable to see just what he was thinking.

He winced. In the flurry of activity of Christmas and trying to help Harry with his pain, he'd completely forgotten the things he'd said to his dad. Maybe he had gone a little far with it, but there was absolutely nothing which would make him admit that. "Maybe I'll talk to him." Maybe. It's not like he had to or anything. It was his father who'd condemned the family to poverty after all... but he'd said there was a reason for it...

Harry smiled weakly and climbed onto his own bed with a pile of presents for the Weasleys neatly wrapped - probably Hermione's doing - on his lap. Ron found he had nothing really to say about the whole debacle. Instead, he bustled around in the uncomfortable silence, restacking presents and setting out a roll of parchment for a letter to Hermione. Finally, Harry spoke, though the smile was entirely gone when Ron turned to meet his gaze. "Where am I going to go?"

Ron frowned and took a seat at his desk, shoving a pile of papers and clothes from the chair in order to do it. "Well... back to school, I'm assuming..." Of course, it took just an extra moment for Ron to realize what Harry was _really_ talking about; a moment which left Ron feeling even stupider than usual.

"No, after the term," Harry corrected unnecessarily. "Dumbledore will never let me stay here for the whole summer, and I don't have anymore relations, I don't think. Or do I? I don't know anything about my dad's family." 

  
He jumped on the topic, anything to keep Harry from thinking about Sirius. "Hey, there's an idea! I bet there's a whole load of geneologies at Hogwarts. Hermione will know where they are. Purebloods love geneologies! Maybe we can find a relative close by!" Ron spun around in his chair and started ruffling through the mess of papers littering the surface. "Let's see... in primary school, I had to write up a whole geneology for the teacher. Mum helped me on it, she loves things like that. She knows all about pureblooded families generations back! Her family used to be rich, you know - ran about with the likes of the Malfoys and the Averys and the Parkinsons for decades - but they fell out of favour in the 1800s and lost most of their money because they refused to practice the Dark Arts. And then there was a huge battle in... ergh, it was 1899, a huge wizarding battle. Some of Mum's relations were on the Light side and some had gone over to the Dark - one of them even married a stinking Malfoy! - but the Light won. However, Mum's family lost all their money when one of the bloody Malfoys married Mum's great-great aunt and then murdered her and covered it up. It sounds like it was wicked! And to think, I had ancestors who did all that!" He finally found the crumpled sheet of parchment and passed it to a slack-jawed Harry in triumph. "See? There you go! Weasleys on this side, MacDougals on this side - that's Mum's family. She's related to McGonagall's mum; in the same Scottish clan. Isn't that weird?"

Harry glanced up at Ron in awe. "How come you're so bloody horrid at History of Magic? You've got the whole history of magic just in your family tree!"

Ron could feel himself blushing. It wasn't often he got to impress Harry Potter, after all. "Well, lots of wizards are interested in family trees and such. It's because there are so few wizards compared to Muggles. Almost everyone's related one way or another and it's really important to make sure you don't end up shagging your second cousin or something."

"Eww. Ron, that's disgusting." Harry wrinkled his nose and stared down at the paper. "Yuck, you're related to Ernie MacMillan!"

Wrinkling his nose in response, Ron snatched the parchment back. "Ugh, you're right. I forgot about that... well, at least it's enough generations back that it doesn't matter. I'd hate to have to put up with him at a family reunion. Not that we see anyone on my dad's side anyway - you see, he was disowned! Exciting, isn't it?"

"Erm... yeah, exciting..." Harry frowned. "How does this all help me again?"

"Oh! Well, there's got to be someone who has a whole history of the Potters down somewhere. Your family's as old as my mum's. Well, my dad's is old too, but they were peasants until a few hundred years ago, so keeping geneologies wasn't so important to them. But since your family has money, I'll bet there are loads of people you're related to! Maybe you're even related to me!" Ron grinned and tossed the paper aside without bothering to see where it fell. He hopped up next to Harry and stretched. "I'll bet we can go downstairs and shake the presents. Want to write a note to Hermione first? I told her I'd send her one, but you could send one too."

A strangely closed expression crossed Harry's face. Ron wasn't sure what it meant. "Why don't you just add a postscript for me?"

Ron frowned and peered at his friend. "Well, I do realize she'll be here later, but why can't you write a letter? Just a Happy Christmas and all. It'll probably get there before lunch."

"My hands are shaking," Harry replied quietly.

Ron winced - it seemed all the good he'd done with going off about his mum's silly geneology obsession had been lost. His hands were shaking? "Is that something to do with the curse? Or with the potion?"

"It's not the potion," Harry snapped tiredly. "There's no problem with the bloody potion. It's the curse. After I See something, sometimes my hands shake for a bit. The potion's just blocking me from Seeing it. I bet Voldemort just killed someone." As if to emphasize the remark, a trickle of blood appeared, dripping from his nose. Harry winced and dabbed at it with his sleeve. "Aw, bloody hell... Ron, have you a handkerchief? Guess he's still torturing the poor git, whoever it is."

Ron fished out a mostly clean cloth from under the bed, trying not to focus on how easily Harry was taking all the deaths happening around him or on how much his hands were shaking as he wiped the blood away, or on how eerie it was to watch a bruise spring up around Harry's eye. Merry bloody Christmas.

+

Even one Weasley short, a tension between several members of the household, and the budget running particularly tight due to the mounting hospital bill, there wasn't enough wrong to keep Mrs. Weasley from making the Christmas of 1995 into the best it could possibly be. The stockings on the mantle were all stuffed to their fullest with homemade treats rather than expensive wizarding candy - though Ron knew he would sorely miss his annual gorging on Chocolate Frogs. The generous breakfast she cooked up before anyone was allowed to touch a gift - a tradition she steadfastly refused to break, even under the combined duress of Sirius, Bill, and Remus Lupin, oddly enough - consisted of less meat than ever before, though no one dared mention it. The conversation, though quite strained on several subjects, still managed to remain light and avoid the topic of the ever-more-fearful world. But the presents, Ron was pleased to discover, were as generous and lavish as his impoverished family could afford.

It was tradition for each Weasley child to open one gift at a time in order from youngest to eldest to let the others ooh and ahh over it before the next gift could be touched and, with the addition of three to the already-crowded living room, it promised to be a very long session indeed. The dread Weasley jumpers were first - well, dread to Ron, at least. Ginny went first, tearing happily into her annual purple jumper while Ron held his package with dread. He very hesitantly tore away the wrapping, squeezing his eyes shut in the process. It had been years since he'd spent Christmas at home, but he knew it would be the same... maroon... "Ron!" Harry hissed, "Just look at the bloody thing!"

With a wince of despair he was unable to hold back, Ron squinted... only to find himself holding a very nice, navy-blue jumper. Ron gasped loudly, promting a few chuckles from around the room. "Mum! But... isn't blue Percy's colour?"

Percy frowned in agreement and tore into his own parcel - out of order, the scoundrel, Ron mused. Out he pulled a tasteful royal blue jumper of his own. He sighed loudly in relief. Percy hated change - to be knitted a jumper in any colour other than blue would have been grounds for an Unforgiveable.

"Harry wrote me a letter telling me just how much you dislike maroon," Ron's mum explained, grinning slightly. Harry was giggling like a fool from his seat next to Lupin. "If you'd told me years ago, you could've had a navy blue jumper every year... I thought you'd like maroon because it matches Chudley Cannon Orange!" Mrs. Weasley winked.

"Oh, Mum... thank you!" Ron missed the point, of course, but pulled his new, NOT MAROON jumper over his head. The moment would be treasured, even if he would have to block out the laughter all around at the expression of pure bliss on his face. Yes, happiness was a navy-blue jumper.

Even Sirius and Lupin received their own jumpers. Lupin managed to look rather dashing in a lumpy, pale green one, while the highlight of the moment was the ridiculous dog-sized jumper that awaited Sirius in his package. It seemed Bill had shrunk it down as revenge for the first-year itching powder.

The rounds of presents continued. Ginny found mysterious looking chocolates in her package from Fred and George, which she promptly threw right back at them, while Ron found... "Look! New dress robes!" he crowed joyfully. Their mail order tricks must've been paying off, as they were much more expensive than even an entire year's worth of allowance should've accounted for. Lovely, navy-blue - a pattern there, Ron mused - and thankfully without a spot of lace. He noticed Harry grinning broadly, even as it came time for him to open his own box of tricks from the twins, but didn't think much of it.

Lupin and Sirius had gone in together on gifts for each of the Weasley children, as well. It sounded as though poor Ginny had received a diary, as a loud shriek came from her corner of the room and something black and book-shaped went sailing across the room. Obviously, Harry had neglected to mention the whole incident with Riddle's diary, years earlier - he was talking to Lupin while Percy and George tried to calm Ginny. Sirius just looked bemused at the whole thing.

Ron picked up his own present from the pair and examined the size and weight as he waited for Ginny to finish her hysterics - it really wasn't impressing Harry - and they could get on with it. It was strangely heavy for a palm-sized box... not that the gift itself seemed particularly odd. No, it was more the fact that a former professor was spending the holiday (Snape coming for dinner had been bad enough) and was being treated by Ginny and the twins as a favoured uncle. He suddenly had a horrid taste of what it might be like to be the newly orphaned Malfoy - Potions class would have to be hell.

"Ron? Are you going to stare at it or open it?" Lupin prompted. Thankfully jarred from disturbingly empathetic thoughts toward Malfoy, Ron grinned and tore into the little gift as Lupin offered a bit of an explanation. "Well, it's from Sirius and myself, of course... Padfoot's been clearing out his Gringotts vault with my help, I'm afraid."

"It's not as though I'll be able to use it again," Sirius added gruffly. Ron stopped unwrapping just long enough to sneak a glance at the Harry Situation. As expected, Harry had turned depressed while Sirius reminded him, unwittingly, of his departure. Harry was sitting on one side of Lupin and Sirius on the other, as if using the werewolf as a living buffer. They were certainly a melancholy pair.

He fought back a mournful sigh and finished tearing the paper open. Inside was a plain red box, the kind used to wrap jewelry. Ron lifted the lid curiously. "What is it?" Fred demanded, stretching to see around Ron's shoulder.

With deep reverence, Ron plucked the golden pocketwatch from the box, gaping in wonder. It was beautiful... 'RW' was engraved on the front cover and on the inside, the watch had a total of five delicate hands. Two told the hour and minute and the third the seconds, as a common Muggle watch did, but the fourth and fifth, resting below the time in a much smaller circle, were labelled "Harry" and "Hermione," and both were pointing on the tiny dial to "safely home." The dial was much like a simpler, smaller version of the prized grandfather clock displayed in the corner of the room. Rather than a dozen choices, as on the Burrow clock, the pocketwatch had only four: "safely home," "working hard," "travelling," and "in danger."

Ron was jolted from his private worship of the piece by Lupin. "I thought about getting one for Hermione, as well, but I found a copy of a book she'd been looking for... Keep it well, Ron. I know just how much I could've used one of those in 1981. One of those could've saved us all." Lupin's expression was full of guilt and regret. It struck Ron that, come the next day, Lupin would be the only one of his school friends left in England, and undercover in another country, Sirius Black would be as good as dead to him.

"I don't know what to say," Ron found himself murmuring. Location Watches were incredibly expensive - since it was a Muggle item, a special permit had to be obtained to create one, and the charms used to pinpoint th elocation of each person in question were incredibly complex. "This is just... it must've cost a fortune...!"

Lupin gave a loud snort. He climbed to his feet and crossed the room, leaving Harry and Sirius uncomfortable without their human buffer, and came to rest kneeling before Ron. "When it comes to protecting the three of you, I'd sell my soul to keep you safe. It is your job, Ron Weasley, to make absolutely certain that Harry's alright. If that hand points to danger, don't hesitate - turn around, tell Dumbledore, and send me an owl when you're done with that. I may not be allowed to take care of him myself, but I'm going to make damned sure that someone is doing the job for me."

Nodding weakly, Ron clipped the delicate chain to a belt loop and slipped the golden watch into his pocket. "I won't let him do anything too stupid. Well, stupider than usual."

Harry was blushing furiously as Lupin retook his seat. "I don't need to be looked after!" he hissed furiously.

"Maybe not," Lupin replied softly, "but it doesn't mean I don't worry. And I certainly care enough to worry."

Without warning, the indignation drained from Harry's face and turned to joy. He threw his arms around Lupin, prompting Ron to blush and look away. Ron noticed his brothers doing the same, though his mum was watching, teary-eyed.

To cover for the tender moment, Fred grabbed up his gift from Lupin and tore into it. His jaw dropped as he stared blankly into the box, ginerly lifting out a single piece of parchment. "George!" he moaned. "Look!"

George leaned over his twin's shoulder and let out a whoop of joy, which he quickly followed by tearing open his own gift. It appeared to be the same thing - a piece of paper - but he too went into near hysterics over it. "What in the name of Merlin is wrong with you two?" Mrs. Weasley demanded.

"Spells!"

"Important ones!"

"A tracking charm -"

"- and a signature charm! Are they... are they really...?"

"Where did you learn them in the first place?" Fred finished, peering at Lupin.

"Sirius was responsible for the creation of the signature charm - yes, the one from the map - but the tracking charm was my own invention... Now, those parchments are to be destroyed the moment you've memorized them. Those spells are top secret," Lupin grinned.

Mrs. Weasley's frown didn't seem to affect Lupin at all. "Did you just give them something to prank with?" she demanded.

"Of course not!" Sirius exclaimed. He and Lupin exchanged grins. "Those are to be used in the creation of trademarked Marauder products only, under the Weasley Wizard Wheezes brandname, of course. Top secret..."

The twins looked as though they'd died and gone straight to heaven. Percy rolled his eyes and crossed the room to give Lupin a gift out of turn, driving all the attention straight to him. He set a bundle of papers on Lupin's lap. "I put it into Councilman Bragge's box late last night. It will be presented to the Wizarding Council of Law on the morning of January the Third and voted on no later than April the Twentieth. Mr. Bragge expects nearly 52% of votes, conservatively. Unless someone is bitten this spring... you should be classified as a being by May the First. And, in that case, the last document in the pile may be quite helpful."

Lupin flipped to the last page and though Ron hadn't a clue what the document was, it sent the professor into tears. Harry tried to peek over Lupin's shoulder, but he slammed the document shut quickly. "Percy... oh, thank you, you've no idea what this means..."

Percy blushed and straightened his glasses. "Well, Councilman Bragge asked me to do it... he was impressed by my report on cauldron bottoms, and offered me a position as a bill writer if this one passes..."

And Percy kept talking... and talking... even as he opened his gift from Lupin (a book, of course) and as Bill opened his (a very large can of itching powder) but he finally let off when it was Harry's turn to open gifts. Lupin and Sirius had pitched in together to offer a shopping trip into London to find him clothes that actually fit. Sadly, Harry thanked Lupin profusely, but ignored Sirius. Ginny then opened her gift from Harry - she seemed to be in exstacy over it, though it was only a silly pair of socks. And finally it was Ron's turn again, and he tore into his own gift from Harry... a notebook?

"It was Hermione's idea," Harry put in quickly, noting the confusion on Ron's face. "She'll give you the other half later, we picked it out together... but it's a very special notebook! It's a NeverEnding NeatSheet. There's always as many pages as you need and it corrects spelling and grammar mistakes, and even makes messy writing legible." Harry grinned. "Got it for the last part, really. If I'm ever supposed to read the notes you write to me in Divination, you'll have to learn how to write properly."

Ron grinned back, of course - though the gift reeked of Hermione's influence, NeverEnding Notebooks were never cheap, and his handwriting realy was abominable... "Well, if you start hounding me to study for OWLs, I'll start calling you Hermione."

"You really should be studying already, Ronald!" Mrs. Weasley butted in. "The OWLs are -"

"- exceptionally important, and if you want to make something of yourself, you have to study!" the twins chorused. Mrs. Weasley and Percy wore identical expressions of disapproval, while Mr. Weasley chuckled softly.

Mrs. Weasley turned on them. "And you-! You two have NEWTs in June, and if your NEWT scorse are as abysmal as your OWLs, you'll never -"

A roar of green flame erupted in the fireplace and a large head suddenly appeared amid the flames. "Mr. Weasley? Arthur Weasley?"

Ron's dad leaned around the side of the chair. "Yes, Happy Christmas... I'm Arthur Weasley."

"It's about your son, Mr. Weasley. Please come to St. Mungo's."

Mr. Weasley had Apparated away almost before the doctor finished. And then the head was gone, too, leaving everyone else to wait nervously for more information. Ron only hoped it would be good.

Mere moments later, Mr. Weasley's face was the one appearing in the fireplace. "Charlie's awake! Charlie's okay!"


	13. Absolution

****

Title: Our Fathers (12)  
**Author name:** Indarae  
**Author email:** hornbach@grinnell.edu  
**Category:** Drama  
**Sub Category:** Angst  
**Keywords:** Voldemort Harry Ron Draco Year-Five  
**Rating:** PG  
**Spoilers:** SS/PS, CoS, PoA, GoF, FB, QTTA  
**Summary:** Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Draco Malfoy ñ three boys coming of age in a world of terror face off against an uncertain future. A father dies, a father tells his story, and a father is made human against the backdrop of Voldemortís second rise to power and a mysterious discovery hidden in the history of Hogwarts itself.  
**DISCLAIMER:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.   
**Author notes:** Moving right along... I am almost done with my spring break homework! Woot! *does a little dance* And in celebration... a new chapter. Oh — the sock shrine in here comes from various Sugarquill.net fics. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter Twelve - Absolution

Somehow, the crowded, sterile hospital room was every bit as cheerful as the carefully decorated living room of the Burrow. All of the unopened presents had been carted in and Charlie, though still bald and beardless, shared the joy with everyone else - though Sirius, of course, wasn't allowed to join them. Mrs. Weasley sneaked in enough butterbeer and homemade shortbread to feed a small army - which it was - and even Harry managed to put on a cheerful face.

When all the packages had been opened, all the butterbeer imbibed, and all the other Weasleys had their chances to hug Charlie and talk to him privately, it was finally Ron's turn. He perched on the edge of the bed and gave his brother a hug. "You look like a freak without your hair," he joked. "Even Dad has more than you."

"And your feet have gotten so big, you look ready to fall flat on your face," Charlie countered, a grin crinkling the unnaturally pale patch of new skin on his face. "How are things, Ron? Why's Remus Lupin here? Why does Harry look like hell frozen over? Mum won't let anyone tell me anything - she thinks I'm frail!"

"No one tells me anything either," Ron grinned back. The grin faded into the most serious expression he could muster. "How are things? Well, shite, really. Lupin's here for Harry, to start to try and answer. You've been told that Lupin was friends with Harry's dad, right? Well, he's a werewolf, so he couldn't take Harry when his mum and dad died. Now, though... Harry's not well. At all. And I guess Professor Lupin is the closest thing to a loving relative that Harry has." The pieces were falling into place for Ron even as he spoke. The expensive gift meant to protect Harry... Lupin popping up at the school every so often to take Harry down to Hogsmeade... Lupin being the one to hold Harry while he cried the night they stayed at his flat in London... Percy's gift to Lupin and the mysterious last page... "Percy's been beating himself silly with this Werewolf Reclassification Bill he's writing," Ron mused aloud. "A few council members are pushing to reclassify as beings... I wonder if it'll pass..."

Charlie glanced over at the pair, who were looking out the window and talking. Harry was grinning and Lupin was gesturing animatedly, his face lit up in a happiness and youth that belied the gray in his hair. "Remus is like an uncle, then?" Charlie asked.

"No," Ron said, "I don't think so..." He frowned to hismself in thought and glanced quickly to the other side of the room. His own father was sitting there, grinning like a maniac and telling some sort of story to Ginny and the twins. The parallels were too perfect for even Ron to overlook. "No," he repeated. "I think... If the bill gets passed, I think Profe- Remus wants to adopt him. I think Percy gave him the papers for it this morning."

Charlie gaped softly and looked ready to put in a reply, but Mrs. Weasley suddenly broke in. "I'm going back to start cooking for dinner," she announced. "Hermione's family is going to be to the Burrow in two hours, and it's a mess! I want everyone home and cleaning up right now!" She grabbed Fred's arm and started berrating him for leaving his and George's candies lying in the kitchen where Hermione's Muggle parents might find them. She stopped only long enough to give Charlie a hug and Ron a warning. "I expect you to follow in just a minute! Finish talking to your brother!" And she herded as many helpers as she could grab from the room, leaving Lupin and Harry sitting by the window.

Ron's brother kept watching the pair. "Adopt, huh? And you said Percy brought the papers...? Well, if anyone can pass a bill, it's Percy. They won't possibly turn down his work. But what about that aunt and uncle of Harry's? Does he want to leave them?"

Ron gave a snort. "Of course he will. Didn't I tell you how the Muggles treat him? Me and Fred and George had to go rescue him a few years ago, in the old Anglia. The windows were actually barred shut! No... he'll be glad to live with Lup- Remus. I just hope the bill actually passes. Harry really needs a dad right now. He's really sick."

"He looks it," Charlie murmured. He turned his attention to Ron and gave a frown, eyes narrowing a bit. "Dads are fairly important... wouldn't you agree...?"

Thinking back on the fight he'd had outside the hospital room, Ron couldn't help but blush. "Yeah... Sort of. But sometimes they make really horrid decisions. Ones that can really hurt people."

Charlie's frown deepened. "Sometimes we all make pretty horrid mistakes. I made a pretty dumb one - I dove between two fighting mother dragons. There's not many stupider things a man can do. And look where it got me? I hurt all of you."

"But you had a really good reason for doing that!" Ron protested. "You were trying to save people's lives!"

He sighed softly and shook his head. "Ron... did you ever think that maybe Dad has a reason for what he does? Percy told me what happened between the two of you and Dad the other day. Yes, Dad's turned down a few promotions... but he has a reason for it. And it's a pretty good one, I think... or it was, then. The first time, I mean."

"What? What reason? What could possibly be worth poverty?" Ron demanded. He pulled his feet up onto the bed, tucking his knees under his chin. "There isn't a good reason. There can't be."

"Maybe you should ask him about it," Charlie murmured. "I think it's high time the story was told to you. I was there in '75, when everything happened... I was 9, mind you, and didn't have much of a say in what was happening. Mum was pregnant with Percy, and You-Know-Who was... he was very, very powerful, then. Dad was still talking to his sister, and his brother was alive."

"Uncle Ron, right? The one I was named after?" Ron ran the information through his head and came up with absolutely nothing more than he already knew. "How does that have anything to do with not taking Internal Affairs in 1975?"

"Talk to him," Charlie repeated. "Ask him why. I promise, Ron... once he answers, you'll understand why he did it."

Ron started as a hand clamped onto his shoulder. "Ready to head back to the Burrow?" Lupin asked. Remus, Ron corrected himself. "Your mum's certain to flay us alive if the house is still a mess when Hermione shows up."

"Plus, Hermione will give me an earful if I don't wrap her gift," Harry added. "Coming home tomorrow, Charlie?"

Charlie grinned and Ron couldn't help but add his smile as well. Harry had called the Burrow home! "Tomorrow," Charlie said. "And by the end of the week, I should be up for some flying... Seeker's game, Friday? Just you, me, and one Snitch... I want to see just how good you are," Charlie winked.

Harry froze, smile fading slightly. "I'd... I'd like that, Charlie, but you see, I've not been well and my hands shake sometimes..."

"I bet you'll be up to it Friday," Lupi- Remus butted in. "I bet I could get Severus to pop in with a dose of your potion, Harry. We could risk one, right?"

Risk one? Ron pursed his lips. There was something about the potion that Harry wasn't telling him. "That sounds great," Harry was saying - and he was very visibly avoiding Ron's gaze. Harry was hiding something, and Hermione was certainly going to hear all about it.

"Right, Friday then," Charlie said. "Now off you go, don't want to make Mum angry - she'll make you degnome the garden no matter how bloody cold it is out there! Merry Christmas!"

Ron stood slowly, hesitant to go back to face his father. Whatever reason he had for turning down all the promotions, it must be something grave indeed for it to be so important to Charlie. In fact, Charlie grabbed Ron's arm as he turned to leave, forcing him to listen once more. "Promise me you'll talk to him, Ron," Charlie demanded. "Tonight. It's important."

"I promise," Ron muttered. "After dinner, when Hermione's parents leave." He followed Harry and Remus to the door.

+

Dinner had been marvelous and a toast had been made to Charlie's health. Mrs. Granger had pumped Remus for information about how Hermione was doing in school, Mr. Weasley stole Mr. Granger's car keys and spent the time after dinner that was usually reserved for conversation shivering out in the cold while making the doors of Mr. Granger's brand new car lock and unlock with the tiny keychain remote, which he decided was "Just bloody amazing!" Sirius had gone off to talk with the twins about 'business' - Harry still refused to look him in the eye - while Ginny retreated to her room to fuss over the socks from Harry. Bill, of course, followed her and could be heard teasing her mercilessly through the open door. Despite missing the annual retelling of the Story of Charlie's Beard, Ron was forced to relive the most embarrassing moments of his childhood in front of his two best friends and their parents, complete with moving wizarding photos. For once, he envied Muggles... He hoped to never again hear Hermione cooing, "Oh... he was such a cute baby..." over a picture of himself and Ginny splashing (nude of course) in the bath. Perhaps he should burn the picture.

While the grownups and Bill settled down for tea and coffee, Ron, Harry, and Hermione finally snuck away to talk up in Ron's room. "You'll never _guess_ what Professor Lupin sent me for Christmas!" Hermione exclaimed, hopping to sit on the edge of Harry's bed.

Ron and Harry sat on Ron's bed and exchanged grins. "A book?" they chorused.

"Not just any book!" Hermione retorted, giving an indignant sniff and turning up her nose at both of them. She didn't make sense, Ron decided. Why get angry over it when it was the truth? Of course she got a book. She _always_ got a book. "It's the diary of Rowena Ravenclaw! Well, not _the_ diary, but a copy of the recovered diaries found after the fires that destroyed Salazar Slytherin's rooms and most of the old greenhouses in 15-"

Ron cut in as quickly as he could without being too rude. Well, alright, he was being rude, he admitted to himself, but at least he wouldn't have to listen to a history lecture on his holiday. "Right, diary. So?"

Hermione sniffed again, glaring. Ron thought it made her look rather like Pansy Parkinson, with her nose turned up and peering down at him like some sort of pug-faced aristocrat... but, as he valued his life, he wasn't about to say anything about it. "You remember what I was saying about the key to the stolen poetry being in a verse, right Harry? I told you at the beginning of the year, while you were stuck in the Hospital Wing with Malfoy?"

"I've spent most of the sodding year being stuck in the bloody Hospital Wing with Malfoy," Harry scowled. "And he's just as spiteful as ever, so please don't start telling me I should be nicer to him, again! Well, did you figure it out? The poetry, I mean?"

Harry was sounding a great deal snarkier than usual, Ron mused. It was around the time the potion should be wearing off... but then he caught sight of Sirius Black lingering outside the door with a mournful frown on his face. Hermione kept talking, oblivious to the tension. "Well, not quite yet. I think this will do it, though! I think this is the original text that all the others were based on. I'll read it tonight, I think! I'm sure Ginny will be busy with her presents."

"Especially her socks," Ron grinned, winking at Harry.

Harry rolled his eyes and slumped against the wall. "I was just being polite. I got everyone else a gift... how was I supposed to know she'd set up some sort of sock shrine? She's bloody worse than Creevey!"

"Hermione, come say goodnight to your parents! They're heading home!" Mrs. Weasley's voice carried up the stairs. Hermione was going to go to King's Cross with them at the end of the week, which would give Ron plenty of time to talk to her alone about Harry and the Hipnis Potion. Or Hippie Potion. Or whatever it was called.

However, Hermione's parents leaving meant that Mr. Weasley would no longer be busy - and Ron had promised Charlie... As they trooped downstairs, Ron leaned over and murmured, "Hey, Harry? Could you keep Hermione busy for a bit? Show her the sock shrine or something? I need to talk to my dad."

"Sure. Take as long as you need." They folllowed Hermione into the entryway, where Mr. and Mrs. Granger were waiting to give hugs all around and Mrs. Weasley was smiling and inviting them back soon. "It's about time," Harry sniped, whispering in his ear as the goodbyes went on. "You fought with him days ago, and it's just money."

Ron could do no more than scowl, as his mother's eyes locked on him, warning silently against trouble. But, finally, Mr. and Mrs. Granger swept out the front door into the snow and Mrs. Weasley slipped back into the living room. "Hey, Hermione? Want to go see the sock shrine? It's rather silly. I want to know if you think Ginny's stalking me or not..." It was sick, really. Harry was practically her big brother, after all, Ron frowned.

But, instead of going along to add his opinions of the whole matter, he dutifully peeked around the corner into the living room. His mum and dad were sitting on the sofa, showing off baby pictures to Remus - probably Bill's, as Ron's eldest brother was sitting nearby with his cheeks (and ears) flaming red in embarrassment. "It's too bad the house at Godric's Hollow was destroyed," Remus was saying. "I wish I still had the picture Lily took of Harry - in the buff, of course - lying on this horrid, furry rug. It would be perfect to whip out and show to his first girlfriend."

"Um, Dad?" he said softly, grabbing everyone's attention - and probably saving Harry from more humiliation in the process. "I was talking to Charlie this afternoon about what happened the other day... and he said there was something that you needed to tell me..."

His parents exchaned pointed glances - Mr. Weasley's face turned a pale white while Mrs. Weasley looked both resigned and near tears. "It's past time he knew, Arthur," she murmured. Remus looked on in some sort of comprehension, while Bill was as white as a ghost - worse, even, than his father. "It's time they all knew..."

"Right," he replied softly. "I'll tell them... you shouldn't have to go through it again, Molls... but let me do it my way?" Mrs. Weasley nodded and turned back to Bill and Remus while Mr. Weasley climbed to his feet. "C'mon Ron, let's go talk in the kitchen? I think everyone else is upstairs."

Surprisingly, Mr. Weasley was right. Usually, the kitchen was the center of the Weasley household, filled with someone cooking up an afternoon snack or doing work on the kitchen table. Empty, however, it made the whole conversation to come seem even more serious. Mr. Weasley sat and gestured for Ron to join him. "This is about the job, of course? What did Charlie tell you?"

"He said you had a good reason for not taking it. I couldn't imagine one," Ron blurted out. He knew he wasn't very good at handling his emotions, but the sudden wince on his father's face was enough to tell him that he'd gone a little too far with being up front about things. Ron blushed and took his seat, lapsing into silence.

"This is a very difficult story to tell," Mr. Weasley began, loosely clasping his hands together on the table before him. "It's not been told since the months after it happened, in October of 1975. Bill was off in his first year at Hogwarts, already being tutored by Remus, I think. Charlie was only nine years old. Your mum was six months pregnant with Percy. I had been Head of the Department of Misususe of Muggle Artifacts for three years. And You-Know-Who was reaching the very height of his power and influence."

"I know," Ron butted in impatiently. He was never one to listen to stories - he liked to tell them, and usually star in them, as he'd gotten to after being a hostage in the Second Task of the Triwizard Tournament. "Charlie told me all that. Why is it so important when it happened?"

Ron grew silent under his father's frown of disapproval. "Please, Ronald. This will be hard enough to relive without you snapping at me, alright? Now..." Mr. Weasley went back to staring at his hands. "Firstly, you need to learn a bit more about my family, and about someone else's family, too. I don't like to talk about them, mostly because of this event, but... I was the youngest of three. The eldest was Ronald, your namesake. He never married. The middle child was Morgainne."

"She married a Dark Wizard, right?" That was one of Ron's favourite tidbits of family lore - the dark secret of the Weasley clan.

"Oh, yes, a Dark Wizard... a very Dark Wizard, as Dark as they come. An early follower of You-Know-Who, I've been told. After all that happened to your sister her first year, I went to the Archives and did a bit of research about the man that the Dark Lord used to be, and the Dark Wizard your Aunt Morgainne married was a good friend of Riddle in school. They were in Slytherin together, a few years apart. And this Dark Wizard was the forgotten branch of the family tree of a family we know very well. His name was Julius Potter."

At that, Ron couldn't help but gape. "Harry's grandad, then? That would make him a cousin! Right? Why isn't he living with us?"

Mr. Weasley chuckled. "No, not exactly a cousin... though we did offer to take him in, in 1981. Julius wasn't Harry's grandfather. Henry Potter was; a very respected Light Wizard who just happened to be the last son of a line of Dark Wizards stretching back into the eighteenth century. Henry married twice - the first marriage occurred after an.. indiscresion at Hogwarts that left him a married father at eighteen. His wife was a Nott, and the child was Julius, born in... it must have been 1932. He was a year ahead of Ronald at Hogwarts. Henry Potter's first wife was most definitely a Dark Witch, and she died in a rather mysterious accident. Most think that the Aurors got her, as she was practicing an Unforgivable, but I think her family killed her to rectify the disgrace of her having married a Light and Muggle-loving Gryffindor. Henry remarried Mercy Ross, a very nice woman who wasn't much older than Julius, and they had two sons together while Henry worked as an Unspeakable. Quite a remarkable man, Henry was..."

"You should be telling this to Harry," Ron murmured. "He knows nothing about his dad's family... they were _all_ Dark Wizards?"

Mr. Weasley nodded slowly. "All but Henry and James. A Potter was at Grindelwald's side... a Potter rode by the Dark Lord Nero LeFay when he tried to take London in 1899... only Henry and James ended up on the side of Light. It's likely why Harry was never told. It's certainly why everyone seemed so eager to believe that Harry could be the Heir of Slytherin or that he'd murdered Cedric Diggory... because his family had a reputation for the Darkest of deeds. Julius, Morgainne, and James' elder brother, Henry, Jr., all died in the service of the Death Eaters."

"Wow." Ron sat back in his chair, sparing a glance at the door. Harry's family was Dark? Maybe he shouldn't know. It was enough that he was connected with Lord Voldemort against his will.

"Yes, well," Mr. Weasley went on, "interesting family lore aside, my father approved of Morgainne's match - though the Potters were Dark, they were also respected and rich - while my marrying into the poor Irish family your mother was borne of, no matter how great they'd once been, was looked down upon. My da and I had a quarrell, my brother got involved, and it ended in Ronald and myself being struck from the inheritance. I married your mum anyways, of course. Bill and Charlie were born in 1964 and 1966... and in 1970, your mum got pregnant again, rather unexpectedly. We hadn't planned to have another child."

Ron did the math, and it came out wrong. "Wait... Percy was born in 1976..."

"In April of 1971," Mr. Weasley continued, staring blankly out the window over the frozen ground, "our first daughter was born. Deborah Morgainne, we called her. Deborah, in order to continue on your mum's silly wish for alphabetical order... and Morgainne both to make your aunt notice our need and for my love of the stories of King Arthur. Bill, Charles, Edmund Percival (for my da, but we liked Percy better), Frederick, George... then Ronald for my brother and Guinevere Elaine to finish the lot. Did you ever wonder why, until you were born, the others were in alphabetical order? It's very silly... your mum saw this Muggle movie with her Squib cousin, the one in -"

"Dad, the point?" Ron butted in. "We have silly names... so what about Deborah?"

Mr. Weasley nodded. 'Yes, the point, sorry... Debbie was born in 1971. Percy was next. But in 1975, things started to happen to us. We'd managed to catch your Aunt Morgainne's fancy by naming Debbie for her. She'd inherited when Da died in 1969, and was content to give a bit of money now and again when Ronald and I begged hard enough."

Ron frowned. "I'm glad I never met her. She sounds like a Malfoy."

His dad gave a snort. "Worse. She was married to Julius Potter, the original right hand of You-Know-Who! I should've known better than to remain connected to her... I should've known not to be indebted to a Dark Wizard..." He sighed. "Should've. But then, in 1975, after the Head of the Department of Internal Affairs died very mysteriously and very painfully, it was offered to me - me, the head of one of the most junior departments - on a silver platter."

"But you didn't take it?"

"The silver platter had a very big and very important string attatched. You see, Julius Potter himself murdered the Head of Internal Affairs to open the position for whomever the Dark Lord saw fit to appoint. The Ministry, in those days, was in the very hands of You-Know-Who; a fact they try very hard to ignore now. The morning I was offered the appointment, Julius appeared in my office and told me that I could be the Head of Internal Affairs... so long as I did exactly as I was told. That meant keeping silent about whatever Julius and Morgainne chose to do... but it also meant that I'd have to be loyal first to the Dark Lord." He sighed again. "Of course I refused. Me? A Death Eater? Ridiculous. I had no intention of going Dark. Morgainne was a fool to give in to it. However, refusing the command of the Dark Lord used to have very dire consequences. Gene Guffery, the former Head of Internal Affairs, had done just that - and he ended up dead."

Mr. Weasley lapsed into silence and Ron waited with bated breath for the continuation of the tale. It was amazing - his own father, lured toward the Dark! His aunt married to a Potter - and a Death Eating Potter at that! Why hadn't he told everyone this before? It was exciting! What could possibly be so terrible about his dad coming out ahead of the Dark Lord himself?

But then Ron realized that his father was crying silently. "Molly had gone out to get Charlie new shoes with some of the money Morgainne gave us. My brother came to our home - it wasn't the Burrow, then, it was a little house in Chipping Sodbury - to watch over Debbie. Molly didn't want to drag a four-year-old shopping when there was nothing to be bought for Debbie. So that day - it was October 17th. I'll never forget it... Ronald was watching Deborah. And I told Julius straight to his face that I'd never take the damned job, and I'd never serve that bastard - and he was livid, he told me that I'd regret my choice... he Apparated out of the office... I should've _known_..."

"Known what?" Ron whispered. He was almost afraid to hear, but he was thoroughly caught in the web of the tale.

He was crying harder. Sometimes it was hard to understand him. "Julius left. I went back to work... but an Auror showed up in my office, just a little later - he said it was an emergency - I Apparated home, and it was THERE, over MY HOUSE." And Mr. Weasley choked on his worse, buried his face in his hands, and wept.

Ron was at a loss for a moment before everything finally took shape in his mind. The Dark Mark above his home, just like the one hovering over the forest at the World Cup. Green, sinister, the skull and snake above Chipping Sodbury... "And Uncle Ron and Deborah were both dead when you got home," Ron murmured.

"My fault..." Mr. Weasley choked through his sobs. "If I'd said yes... They were... he tortured them! Gods, she was only four years old!"

"Dad," Ron whispered, "You don't have to keep talking." He scooted closer and hugged his father the same way he'd held Harry as he cried the night before.

He shook his head and kept talking. "You need to know. In the post, the next morning, there was a letter from _HIM_... it said if I fought back, he'd take Charlie next! If I made a single move against him... if I did anything at all... Charlie first, and then Bill..."

The story suddenly seemed a great deal less exciting, when living brothers were involved. But a few more things started to click into place. "So you didn't know what was meant by fighting back?"

Mr. Weasley shook his head mournfully. "I promised never... never to put my family in danger again. Never fought, never took a more important job... he might think anything was a threat! Even after 1981... we thought he was gone, but I was still so frightened..." He wiped his face with his sleeve. "You understand which him, right? HIM. You-Know-Who himself said it. And in the next June, Julius and Morgainne did something to make him angry. And Julius died for it, and Morgainne died for it, and their son, Thomas, died for it... and I realized just how lucky we had been. We were so lucky, Ron... I should've died for what I said, and your mum, and Charlie, and Bill, and Percy... We were so lucky to only lose two... and I'll stay poor and insignificant in Misuse of Muggle Artifacts until I die, because it means that we're not a threat! Only those who are a threat end up dead with the Mark over their house!"

"Harry's a threat," Ron whispered, suddenly very much more aware of what it actually meant to be the best friend of the Boy Who Lived. "And if Harry's a threat... I might be one, too."

"And I'll do nothing to brighten the spotlight on any of you," his dad whispered back. Ron was crushed into a hug. "I am so proud of you. You've been a friend to a very dangerous person. You've faced danger and proved how brave you are. But Lord help me... I won't bury another child..."

And Ron's dad trailed off, planting a kiss on his forehead. Normally, Ron would've pulled away in embarrassment - but that day, he hugged back. He understood, even if only temporarily, just what his father had given up to make sure of his family's security. It might've looked like an act made in fear, but he'd talked back to the right hand of You-Know-Who and sacrificed everything. He gave up his very dreams. And it was Ron's dad who had done it, no one else.

That day, Ron was very proud to be a Weasley.

Read? Review! 


	14. Snow On Snow

Spring Break is over... sadness!! And I wanted to thank everyone for their reviews — they brighten my day! But, here's the bridge chapter! Next up... Harry's POV. Beware... it's going to drop to another level of depressingness...

Oh, Snape's mug is indebted to "Slytherin Rising" a wonderful series meant to redeem Slytherin House. Go Jenna!

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Snow on Snow

(Chapter Thirteen)

"A time for weeping and a time for laughing,

A time for wailing and a time for dancing;

A time for throwing stones and a time for gathering stones,

A time for embracing and a time for shunning embraces."

-Ecclesiastes 3:4-5

In the Bleak Midwinter

Draco Malfoy sat in a Slytherin-green, velveteen-upholstered chair in front of a raging fire in the dungeons. In the front room of Snape's private apartments, in fact. He was supposed to have been met by his guardian an hour and a half earlier to go up to the Christmas brunch in the Great Hall, but the professor had never turned up. On Draco's lap sat a thick photo album, which had been tossed carelessly on the (equally green) sofa when he'd first arrived. He flipped through the pages, looking at pictures of Snape and Narcissa when they attended Hogwarts together... a few pictures of a red-headed woman, though she didn't seem to be a Weasley; her robes were too nice. There was a picture of Draco as a baby, in a very ugly mess of white frills - he supposed it was probably his Baptism, from the fact a Muggle priest was standing next to his parents, and his parents were dressed in actual Muggle clothing. 

For some odd reason, they'd always made an exception when it came to the Church. They could sit next to Muggles, in the very pew a Muggle had touched the week before but every time they'd dragged Draco along - it couldn't have been more than four or five times a year - they went quietly, didn't complain about the uncleanliness of Muggles, and pretended to be upstanding members of the community.

Normally, on Christmas morning, Draco would've been sitting in a Muggle church and listening to the priest drone on about something or other, instead of sitting alone in a dungeon. He realized he'd been humming to himself - a Christmas song that they sang in Church every Christmas mass. "Silent night," Draco sang softly, in a tremulous baritone, "Holy night. All is calm, all is right... round yon virgin, mother and -"

The door of Snape's bedchamber was flung open and the professor, clad in black pyjamas and a black dressing gown, stormed into the room. "What are you doing here? Would you stop that blasted singing, at ONCE!"

Draco tossed the photo album aside and narrowed his eyes. "You were asleep? You were in your sodding bed this whole time!?"

"Why shouldn't I have been? This happens to be where I live!" Snape growled, slamming the bedroom door and stalking across the room to the cupboards where his collection of teas were kept. "Why are you here? Shouldn't you be sleeping?"

"It's Christmas morning." Draco slumped back, crossing his arms over his chest.

Snape paused in filling a spare cauldron with water. "Yes, and? I should be celebrating it?"

"Brunch. In the Great Hall," Draco attempted to remind him.

"Well, go and eat it, then!" his guardian returned, slamming the cauldron into place above a tiny magical flame. "Go get your breakfast and leave me in peace!"

Draco sneered over at the professor. "We were _supposed_ to go together. Because you're supposed to be my guardian, remember? Take care of me? Make sure I'm happy? You're doing a _fine_ job at it, aren't you!"

"I don't want breakfast." Snape grabbed up a dirty-looking coffee cup ("Slytherins are Sexier" was written across the front in bright green - Draco couldn't help but shudder at the thought of 'Snape' and 'sexy' being connected in the very least) and filled it with water and a teabag. "I hate Christmas. I don't celebrate Christmas. And I don't believe that your parents ever celebrated it either."

"We went to church. And we opened presents, and we had dinner with the Parkinsons. They made me wear dress robes and sit next to Pansy, even when I was little. We celebrated Christmas... and Easter, too..." Draco was indignant. Of course they celebrated Christmas! Only... well, only dour Potions Masters didn't celebrate Christmas.

"Well, I don't!" he snapped, slamming the mug down on the counter. "Now, unless you have something else you need from me, I wish to be left alone."

Draco rose from his seat, digging into one of his pockets. "Happy Christmas, Professor," he snapped as nastily as the words would allow. He snatched the gift he'd so thoughtfully had Blaise pick up for his godfather on the last Hogsmeade trip (which he was barred from attending) from his pocket and tossed it on the sofa. "I thought everyone celebrated Christmas, so I got you a present. Guess you didn't care enough to do the same, eh?"

He heard Snape calling after him as he stormed out into the empty hallways, but he didn't bother to go back. So he still wasn't wanted. It wouldn't be the first time.

As he stormed around the corner, however, he ran head first into Professor Dumbledore. "Whoops!" The old man managed to grab Draco's sleeve and keep him from tumbling to the ground. "Well, Mr. Malfoy, I was just coming down to find you! What amazing luck!" Draco brushed himself off and made a noise of agreement. "Have you seen Severus yet this morning? Oh, Happy Christmas! I nearly forgot!"

"Professor Snape is in his rooms." He managed to answer quite calmly, which he was very proud of. However, Draco slipped into a sneer of anger as he continued. "I'd not advise disturbing him. He's already kicked me out."

Dumbledore gave a frown and peered down the hall. "Well, Severus usually has to be dragged out to celebrate the holiday... But, perhaps today, we should let him putter about with his potions? Brunch, Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco nodded sullenly and followed the Headmaster up to the Great Hall. Mere months ago, the mere thought of spending a meal with the one man that Lord Voldemort was purported to be afraid of would be like sacrilege... it was truly amazing how different things seemed now.

He caught a glimpse of his appearance as they passed a window nearing the Hall and stopped abruptly, not noticing whether Dumbledore missed him or not - he looked terrible. What had happened to the Pretty Boy of Slytherin? His skin was sallow, there were dark bags under his eyes, his hair was stringy and unkempt, and he was wearing the same wrinkled robes he'd worn the day before. He only had a few pairs, as he couldn't get back into the Manor. He looked... like Snape. Lonely and cruel. Was that all he had to look forward to?

"Are you alright, Draco?" He jerked his gaze from the window as Dumbledore's voice interrupted his thoughts. The elderly man was frowning and watching Draco carefully.

"Sir..." Draco paused, collecting his thoughts, trying to decide what exactly he should ask and what he might be able to pry from the man. "Professor, when Snape decided not to support Lord Voldemort anymore, did he tell you why?"

Dumbledore smiled slightly, setting a hand on Draco's shoulder to guide him away from his reflection. "Interesting that you should ask... he did, indeed. Shall I tell you the story over breakfast?" 

"But won't the other teachers be there? I think Professor Snape would be angry if they all heard as well." Draco certainly didn't need that. It was bad enough dealing with the man when he was in his more pleasant of moods.

The Headmaster shrugged. "Minerva should be down in a little while, but she tends to floo her sister before brunch... Filius is visiting his grandchildren, Flora is with her brother... most of the professors are not around, because of the repairs on the wards last night. They shan't arrive back until tomorrow, at the earliest. No... I think this would be a perfectly good time to tell the story. Minerva's already heard it, anyways. Come, come... you can sit up at the Head Table, too!"

They'd reached the Great Hall and, true to Dumbledore's word, it was empty. Draco found himself sitting in Professor Sinistra's customary seat at Dumbledore's left (with McGonagall's at his right open for her later arrival) and went about filling his plate with eggs and bacon and sausages. "Now then," Dumbledore began, sipping at a glass of pumpkin juice, "Severus joined Voldemort right after he left Hogwarts. His father, Septimus, was a follower, and had been for years. Just like you, he spent most of his life expecting to become a Death Eater. Septimus was... a much more brutal man than your father, though not nearly as effective in the public sphere. If there's one thing I'll say in your father's favour... he was very good at convincing people that his way was the right way."

"He always got his way when he was a governor," Draco muttered. "Even when it was over something stupid, like the dumb hippogriff."

"Ahh, but it all worked out in the end," Dumbledore replied mysteriously, beaming broadly. "Yes, Septimus was as brutal with his son as he was with those who crossed him. And I... I was not careful enough," he admitted. "It never occurred to me that Severus would follow his father willingly, after the man destroyed his childhood... but, I always have underestimated the importance of family ties to Slytherins. As I was saying, Severus became a Death Eater, and a very effective one, as brutal as his father."

"Then why did he turn?" Draco demanded. "I never understood that... if he was so good at it, and if Lord Voldemort kept pulling him up in the ranks, why did he change his mind?"

Dumbledore set down his fork and turned a serious eye on Draco. "Septimus angered Voldemort. In those days, there were many more Death Eaters than now. I'm sure your father told you of the glory days of the 1970's? Well, after Septimus discovered that Voldemort was not actually pureblooded... he was the son of a Muggle and a witch... Septimus decided that he would be a much better Dark Lord. Voldemort killed him. And killed Merinae, Severus' mother, as well as any Snape he could find... other than Severus, who had proved himself as loyal."

"Just like me..." Draco murmured. "And so... he changed sides, then?"

"Yes. He wasn't yet nineteen. He came to my doorstep in the midst of July, confessed his sins, and asked to be taken to Azkaban to die. But I offered him another choice - one which, I'm afraid, you can never be given. Severus desperately needed a way to forgive himself and, through being my spy within Voldemort's forces, I hoped he would... he never has, though. I hope, Mr. Malfoy, that it will not prove to be the same for you?" Dumbledore gave a long, silent pause, turning back to his food.

Draco thought of his reflection in the window. He was too young to be so completely alone. The death of his father... they'd said it was inevitable, but he should've been able to stop it... he knew the way into the dungeons of the Manor... And the blood that ran through his veins still held the key to Voldemort's youth. How could he live while death loomed just beyond the edge of the castle grounds?

Did they mean to keep him here, even after he graduated? In two and a half years, he'd be forced to face the outside world, Voldemort or no Voldemort. There had to be a way to keep him from getting Draco... there had to be...

"Up for sledding down by the Pitch?" Dumbledore asked suddenly. "I do love the snow, but the other teachers think it's immature of me to play about in it... they think it makes me look senile. But, if they aren't here...?"

He couldn't help but grin slightly, the dark thoughts slipping away. "Have you got a sled? Mine's at home. I can't get to it."

"We can transfigure something up... Quickly, now, before Minerva sees us!" Dumbledore jumped up and practically bounced his way out of the Great Hall, suddenly seeming to be only a teenager wearing a false beard... or incredibly senile. Either way, Draco suddenly wished his parents had chosen someone like Dumbledore as a godfather for their only son. Life would be much more fun without Severus Snape.

Frosty Winds May Blow

The day after Christmas dawned over the white landscape around the Burrow, and Hermione tiptoed into Ron's room on a mission. She grabbed his shoulders and shook him awake. "Mrpgh?" he muttered, glazed eyes landing on her.

"Shh," she whispered, pointing across the room at Harry's prone form. "We've got to talk about Harry... it's important..."

"What time...?" Ron glanced around blankly. His gaze finally settled on the pocket watch propped up near his bed, and he narrowed his eyes, voice coming out in a hiss of anger. "It's seven bloody thirty in the morning on a day I don't have to wake up for class, Hermione..."

Hermione grabbed his shoulder and dragged him out of bed anyways. Some things were too important to bother over lost sleep about - and Harry was one of them. Hermione shushed Ron again and, before he could whine about being half naked (which he wasn't), Hermione snatched up a dressing gown from the pile of dirty clothing on the floor and threw it at him, pulling him out of the room. "Downstairs, in the kitchen," she whispered.

Ron rolled his eyes, but followed anyways. Hermione stopped at Ginny's room only long enough to grab up a stack of books - Ron groaned at that, but she ignored him - and the two tiptoed down into the empty kitchen, making as few noises as possible. "Here," Hermione began, stacking the books carefully, "I've found a few more things about the stolen books..."

"Well, do it fast," Ron muttered between yawns, "I firmly intend to go back to sleep after this."

Hermione sighed. "This is important! It's for Harry!" First things first, of course - she took out the diary and tome of poetry she'd spent so much time on. "I think the key here is something about Slytherin. You-Know-Who is Slytherin's Heir, so he could be finding as much information as possible... but these books say an awful lot about Hogwarts itself. I can't help thinking that maybe, just maybe, that's what the answer has to do with..."

"I thought you actually _knew_ something," Ron countered. "Hermione, I'm tired! I want to go back to sleep!"

"I'm not done!" she snapped. "Now, that's what I've left to do... but I found something in the Egyptian tome on Christmas Eve! There are a dozen spells in here that You-Know-Who might want to use... most are mind control spells... but one _blocks_ mental interference!"

Ron looked on blankly, prompting a long sigh from Hermione. "Blocks interference?"

"Yes," Hermione continued impatiently, "interference... Like telepathy, and induced dreams... We might be able to use it on Harry to keep You-Know-Who from sending the visions! It could save his life!"

"Well, then do it!" Ron demanded. "He got another bruise yesterday morning, and his nose was bleeding again. His hands are shaking... Gods, Hermione, he's falling apart! If you have a spell, use it!"

Hermione blanched slightly, trying to cover up for a sudden wave a guilt and worry, though she failed miserably. "Well," she started hesitantly. "Harry... oh, to use the spell... umm... You-Know-Who has to be in the room."

Ron's jaw dropped. "You can't seriously... Hermione, the only reason You-Know-Who would be in the room is to kill Harry! I doubt he'd consent to take a jaunt up to Hogwarts to save the Boy Who Lived!"

"It's the best spell we have!" Hermione snapped. "We can show it to Professor Lupin, and he can learn it, just in case... I'll look in the library when we get back to Hogwarts, but I hadn't found anything before! This might be our only chance!"

"Then he really is going to die," Ron glared, "because there's no way in hell he could stand up to You-Know-Who now!" He pushed to his feet and stormed out of the kitchen, though Hermione couldn't hear any doors slamming in Ron's wake.

She sighed. She'd thought Ron would take it badly, but had hoped for better... It was possibly Harry's only choice, however. And she certainly couldn't handle the thought of going on without Harry... it was unthinkable.

Snow Hath Fallen

Remus shook Harry's shoulder lightly, attempting to stay quiet to keep from waking Ron, who was snoring loudly in his own bed. "Harry?" he whispered, "It's time to wake up for a bit..."

"But I'm so tired..." he whined, yawning loudly.

"Shh..." Remus stroked Harry's mop of black hair soothingly. "You can go back to sleep, I promise... but it's time for Sirius to go meet Professor Dumbledore, and he wants to say goodbye."

That certainly was enough to snap the boy awake. He scowled deeply, rolling onto his side and crossing his arms. "No. I don't want to talk to him."

"Harry..." He let out a loud sigh, forgetting about Ron for the moment. With only a moment's hesitation, Remus sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled Harry up into a hug, cradling his head against his shoulder. "Harry, listen to me... Sirius doesn't want to leave, but he has to. It's not his choice. If he stayed in England, he'd end up either dead or worse. He could be back in Azkaban... or he could get the Dementor's Kiss... However, if he changes his name and leaves the country, he can start a whole new life. He could get married... maybe have children... he'll be able to do all the things that were barred to him because of Azkaban. This might be his only chance to live. He'll be a Muggle... but he'll be free..."

"I don't want him to leave," Harry whispered. His face buried in the folds of Remus' sleeve, he tell whether the boy was angry or sad, crying or otherwise. "He promised me... he said I could live with him..."

"Oh, Harry... he wants that, believe me... but sometimes, we make promises that we can't keep." Remus rocked him slowly, becoming aware of his shaking shoulders and wet tears soaking through the shoulder of his shirt.

Harry's voice was almost incomprehensible through his tears. "My fault... Voldemort's back... nobody wants me... what's going to happen to me?"

"It is not your fault," Remus said firmly. He took hold of Harry's shoulders and pulled him away in order to look him in the eyes. "Do you understand me? None of this is your fault. Voldemort would've found a way to come back whether or not you were here. But you might be able to stop him. And there are certainly people who want you! Arthur and Molly care for you very much, and so does Sirius, and so do I. We all love you very much."

Harry dropped his eyes to his hands. "Then what's going to happen? I can't live with Sirius. They won't let me live with you. And I don't want to put the Weasleys in danger. Do I have any other relatives?"

"I don't know," he admitted. Remus smoothed down the boy's hair again and wiped away his tears with the pad of his thumb. "James had a brother and a half-brother, but both died before you were born. I don't think James' dad had any brothers or sisters, but I don't remember - I didn't know him very well. I think his mum had a bigger family... well, I'm sure as it gets closer to summer, Dumbledore will pull out the genealogies and find someone for you to stay with - and I promise, I'll make sure they're better than those blasted Dursleys."

"They weren't... they weren't too bad..." Harry said hesitantly.

Remus frowned. "Yes, they were. I remember Petunia, Harry. I know how she treated her own sister - I doubt she treated you any better. And Vernon? Did you know your dad cursed him the first time they met?"

"He did?" Harry's jaw dropped, tears forgotten. "Dad cursed Uncle Vernon?"

"Turned him into a frog," Remus grinned. "Petunia screamed so loudly that the neighbors called the police. James had turned him back before then, of course... and Vernon certainly wasn't going to charge James with turning him into a frog! He'd have ended up in the mental ward for that one! Not that he wouldn't deserve it." He sobered slightly. "Harry... Professor McGonagall told me how skinny you were when you came back to school every year, and how the Weasleys had to break you out your second year, and how they refused to sign your Hogsmeade forms and you had to run away because you were so scared... that's not the way parents are supposed to treat their children. Now, you might not have been their son, but you were still under their care, and starving you and treating you like a spot of dirt is hardly right. It's illegal, actually. It's called neglect."

Harry shrugged slightly, obviously not wanting to touch the subject. "The relatives Professor Dumbledore finds could be worse."

With a low sigh, Remus nodded. "Yes. They could. But, if that's the case, I'd make sure you weren't left with them. You could always spend the summer at Hogwarts with Draco Malfoy - he's not to be allowed to leave, since he's in so much danger."

"Ugh. Summer with Malfoy? I'd rather face the Dursleys." Harry made a face. "But what about the bill Percy wrote? If you're a being, doesn't that mean I can live with you?"

The mere thought sent Remus' heart soaring with hope - a hope he squashed immediately. Things had never gone his way in the past. He certainly doubted his luck would change. "Harry... yes, it would... but please, don't count on that. I know Percy quoted all those statistics the other night, but the British wizards are notoriously hesitant about allowing a werewolf any rights. I doubt -"

"Sirius said you were born on the Continent," Harry butted in. "If we went there, could I live with you? Would they let you take care of me?"

"My job is here. My life is here. Yes, I was born in France, but it doesn't mean I wish to spend the rest of my life there. Werewolves are still second-class citizens, despite what Sirius seemed to suggest. Living as a Muggle here is better for me than living as a Werewolf Wizard in France. Maybe... maybe someday things will change, but for now, my kind is hated. The rise of Voldemort will only make the situation worse. Many werewolves joined the cause in the '70's. That's why Sirius and James suspected me of being the one to sell them out - not because I'd done anything to suggest it, but because of what I was." Remus gave a long sigh, running his fingers through ever-grayer hair. "Maybe someday, Harry, but it's certainly not a promise I could ever hope to keep."

Harry nodded solemnly and wiped at more tears, which were suddenly reappearing. "You won't leave me, though, will you?"

Remus shook his head quickly. "No, never. I _can_ promise you that much. So long as you live in England, I'll be here for you. I can't be a dad, but I can be... an uncle, maybe? That's the part James wanted me to play, at least - I couldn't be godfather, but I could be the unofficial uncle."

"Uncle Remus," Harry whispered. "Can I call you that?"

He smiled, almost hesitantly. It was a title he'd sorely wanted to hear, from the moment he'd seen Harry in the Great Hall at Hogwarts, but one he'd never imagine being allowed. But, Harry needed family. His foundation, however shakey, had been knocked away by Voldemort's resurrection. "Yeah," Remus whispered back, "I'd love it if you'd call me that... but how about Uncle Re instead? It's shorter... and only my closest friends call me Re..." He wiped away Harry's tears again. "I want you to know that I love you, Harry. Don't ever believe that nobody cares, because I do."

Remus wasn't at all surprised when Harry threw his arms around the werewolf's neck and started sobbing again, but at least it was proof - he'd gotten that point across. "I love you too, Uncle Re." He was surprised, however, to find his own cheeks wet.

"Well," he gave a loud sniff and patted Harry's back, "why don't we go downstairs and say goodbye to Sirius? He's waiting. And I think you owe him that much." He noticed that Ron wasn't snoring anymore. Perhaps getting Harry out of the room was the best idea possible - he knew the boy would be incredibly embarrassed to know that Ron had been listening in to his sobs, even if accidentally.

Harry nodded and climbed out of bed, letting Remus sling an arm around his shoulders to guide him from the room. The pair tiptoed lightly down the creaking steps of the Burrow and into the living room, where Sirius was standing uncertainly before the fireplace. It was nearly time for him to meet Dumbledore for his change of name and face - he looked nervous, but relieved to see Harry coming to see him off. Sirius crossed the room in a dash, throwing his arms around the boy. "Harry, I'm so sorry... I don't want to leave, I swear I don't..."

"I understand," Harry whispered, "and I'm sorry I got mad. I just... I'm afraid. I don't know what will happen." He blushed. It had probably been hard for him to admit fear - he was a Gryffindor, after all, and Remus knew just how important great courage was to all of his old House.

"Everyone gets afraid sometimes," Sirius admitted. "I'm afraid now. I don't know where I'm going, or what will happen to me, either."

Harry winced. "But you'll be free, finally... I'm still trapped." There it was - trapped, the real fear he'd seemed unable to name. Remus understood completely. He was trapped in being the famous Harry Potter, orphan and Savior. What choices was he given about his life? Nothing at all. Face the Dark Lord, possibly die at his hands... and Harry was only fifteen. At fifteen, all Remus had been worried about was whether or not Lily thought he was cute and whether or not the next Charms test would fall the day after a full moon. Even being a werewolf seemed to pale beside being Harry Potter.

Remus squeezed Harry's shoulder firmly, just to let him know he heard and understood. Sirius hugged Harry tighter. "I'm so proud of you."

"Will I be able to send you letters?" Harry asked, looking slightly panicked. "I know I can't see you... but will Dumbledore cut us off completely?"

"I don't know. I bet he'll be able to get a few letters through, now and again... though you may have to send them through the Muggle post to get to me." Sirius glanced over at the clock on the mantle, a small Muggle piece. "I have to go. Dumbledore is expecting me."

"I'll miss you," Harry whispered.

Sirius gave a watery smile, over-bright eyes showing how hard he was working to hold back tears. "I'm going to miss you too, Harry." He gave another hug and a peck on the forehead before turning to Remus. "Moony... Lord above, am I going to have a hard time without you."

Remus drew Sirius into a hug, though keeping a hand firmly on Harry's shoulder. "I'll miss having you around, Padfoot. Just remember us, and we'll see you in a few years. Voldemort will be gone by then... he has to be."

Both men gave loud sniffles and Sirius managed a half-smile before ruffling Harry's locks and turning to the fireplace. With a handful of powder into the fire, he called "Hogwarts, Headmaster's Office," and was gone.

Remus slid an arm around Harry's shoulder once more. "He'll be alright... he managed twelve years in Azkaban - so long as he doesn't have to speak German, he'll fit right in." The boy didn't respond. "Harry?" Remus asked, glancing down at the younger man.

His hand was held to his nose. "Uncle Re... I need a handkerchief." A thin trickle of blood had begun flowing between his fingers.

Remus had him sitting on the sofa, with a clean cloth pressed against his nose, in an instant. "Are you alright? Does it hurt? Did you See anything?"

"No..." Harry blushed. "I'm fine... It's just a bloody nose..." But his hands started shaking as he held the cloth.

"A bloody nose doesn't make your hands shake, Harry," Remus murmured. He took the cloth from Harry and held it in place for him, holding both his trembling hands, despite the blood, in his unoccupied one and giving a squeeze to them to try to give comfort. "It's alright if you don't want to tell me what happened. I'm... I'm glad Sirius didn't see. He doesn't know that you're this ill. He had to go, but he wouldn't have, had he known..."

"Good," Harry whispered. He closed his eyes as another tear joined the wetness on his cheek. "I didn't want him to see."

Remus patted Harry's hands and moved next to him on the sofa, pulling him close. "It'll be alright... you still have me." 


	15. The Heart May Freeze

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Title: Our Fathers (14)  
**Author name:** Indarae  
**Author email:** hornbach@grinnell.edu  
**Category:** Drama  
**Sub Category:** Angst  
**Keywords:** Voldemort Harry Ron Draco Year-Five  
**Rating:** PG  
**Spoilers:** SS/PS, CoS, PoA, GoF, FB, QTTA  
**Summary:** Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Draco Malfoy ñ three boys coming of age in a world of terror face off against an uncertain future. A father dies, a father tells his story, and a father is made human against the backdrop of Voldemortís second rise to power and a mysterious discovery hidden in the history of Hogwarts itself.  
**DISCLAIMER:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.   
**Author notes:** Alrighty, sorry for the delay — finals are rapidly approaching, and I don't know how scheduled the posting will be. Tests are evil.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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Part Three: No Other Road

'I heard my dad,' Harry mumbled. 'That's the first time I've ever heard him - he tried to take on Voldemort himself, to give my mum time to run for it...'

Harry suddenly realized that there were tears on his face mingling with the sweat. He bent his face as low as possible, wiping them off on his robes, pretending to do up his shoelace, so that Lupin wouldn't see.

'You heard James?" said Lupin in a strange voice.

'Yeah...' Face dry, Harry looked up. 'Why - you didn't know my dad, did you?'

'I - I did, as a matter of fact,' said Lupin. 'We were friends at Hogwarts.'"

-Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, page 240-241 (1st ed., paperback) 

Chapter Fourteen - The Heart May Freeze

"Alright," Remus called, "I expect you to turn in that worksheet on atomic makeup the day after you get back from the Easter hols!" The noise of chairs being pushed back from desks and students hurrying for the door caught Harry by surprise, snatching his attention away from his Divination text (cleverly disguised by a false bookcover) to the class going on around him. Although he'd attended Muggle school up until his Hogwarts letter arrived, Harry had expected the upper forms at Muggle schools to somehow be quite different from Hogwarts. If one ignored the differences in curriculum, however, the school Remus taught at was very similar to the magical school where he'd spent a year teaching. Luckily, it wasn't Smeltings, the dread school which Uncle Vernon and Dudley had both attended.

Harry glanced up to find two tall, rather pretty girls, both wearing the navy plaid skirts and blue blazers of their school uniform, standing in front of the desk he'd borrowed for the period. "So, where are you from?" one asked. Harry glanced around for Remus in a panic, only to find him talking to a small group of students near the front of the room.

"Erm... go to school in Scotland," he muttered, trying not to meet the gaze of either girl.

One of them, the one who hadn't spoken before, gave a snort and sat on the edge of the desk. "You're Professor Lupin's nephew? You don't look much like him, you know. And what school in Scotland has red and yellow as its colours? That tie is simply horrid!"

Harry blushed and tried to cover up his Gryffindor colours. It was the only tie he owned. The other girl picked up on the thread of the conversation. "I agree, simply horrid! I much prefer our blue and white. Green wouldn't be so bad, I suppose, but red and yellow? Ugh! And what's that thing on your head? Did you fall down the stairs?"

Sinking down in his seat, he tried desperately to cover both the scar and the tie. It didn't really work. "Car crash," he hissed, reflexively spitting out the excuse he'd been told for the ten years he'd lived with the Dursleys before Hogwarts. "My parents died. I don't want to talk about it."

"You know, there are surgeons who could get rid of it." Harry didn't bother to figure out which one said that. He focused his attention on the door, desperately planning his escape route - if he ducked beneath the table and rolled into the aisle, taking a left after the third desk forward, he'd have a clean shot -

"Harry, are you ready to go? I promised Marguerite we'd stop by the office before going back to the flat." Harry ducked around the girl sitting on the desk. Remus was adjusting his glasses (worn purely for appearance's sake) and giving an amused glance in Harry's direction. Certainly, the sight of two girls practically draped across his desk wasn't the picture he wanted to present to the man. Blushing brightly, he tripped out of his seat, nearly ending up on his back end in the process ("Aww, how pathetic," said one of the girls), and made a mad dash for the werewolf.

Burying his hands in the pockets of his khakis, he ducked his head. "Please, Uncle Re, get me out of here before they come after me!" he hissed.

Remus laughed loudly, prompting a wince from Harry, before setting a hand on the boy's shoulder and leading him from the classroom and down the hall. "Gina McKay and Margaret Batik. They'd be Slytherins, trust me... I'm sorry I had to set you loose in the back, there, but I didn't think you'd understand much Chemistry."

"Not a bit," Harry admitted. "Where did you learn all of that? It certainly wasn't like Potions."

The older man gave a quick glance around the hallway to check for eavesdroppers before answering. "Sometimes, the parents of Muggle-born students want to have their children learn regular Muggle subjects on top of the Magical subjects. Well, your mum's parents were the only ones in my year who opted for the special tutoring, and your mum was bored with going alone... so she bullied me into joining her. She studied enough to be a Ravenclaw, I think... she was quite a bit like Hermione, only a bit more open when it came to making friends. She and Narcissa Thein and Severus Snape got on quite well for a while - until she started dating your dad, that is."

"Ew!" Harry wrinkled his nose. "Mum was friends with _Snape_?"

Remus gave another laugh. "As little as you'd like to believe it, he wasn't the same person then... he got in with a bad crowd. If it hadn't been for Lucius Malfoy, I have doubts whether he'd have ended up on the wrong side - no matter what his father had to say about it. Oh, here we are!" Remus pushed open a door marked 'Headmistress' and nudged Harry in before him.

The room was entirely unlike Headmaster Dumbledore's office back at Hogwarts. While Dumbledore's was round, stone, and full of portraits and oddities, this woman's was wallpaper and plaster, square, and neatly filed in steel drawers. A severe, older woman who reminded Harry of both McGonagall's strictness and poise, sat at the immaculately neat desk. She set aside a stack of papers as her guests entered. "Marguerite, this is my nephew, Harry! I told you I'd bring him in... Harry, this is Headmistress Marguerite Newton. She was kind enough to allow me the time off to care for you when you need me."

A bit more cheerfully than he actually felt, Harry offered a hand. "I'm pleased to meet you, Headmistress."

The woman smiled kindly and took his hand. "And I as well, Harry... and please, call me Marguerite. You're hardly one of my students! Well, how's your holiday? Remus has told me that you'll not be staying with that horrid sister of your mum's anymore... I must admit, I was very close to calling the social services when I heard a few of his tales..."

Remus blushed brightly. "Marguerite, I did ask you not to mention -"

"Well, he's got to work through the trauma!" she exclaimed. "He's too thin by half, though tall enough to make a good Keeper... do you play on the football team at your school, Harry?"

"Er... forward," he answered hesitantly.

"Yes, of course! I'm a little busy, I'm afraid, Remus... Take him off and feed him up, Lupin! And have a very happy holiday, the both of you!" And with that, Harry found himself bustled out of the office in a flurry of handshakes.

After the door had shut, he sent a bemused glance at Remus. "Wow... she's..." He trailed off, unable to come up with a suitable adjective to describe the woman.

"Unique," Remus finished. "But, kind enough, and friends with Dumbledore. And, if Albus trusts her... that's enough for me. Hmm... fish and chips or Indian? I could do for a good curry, I think."

Harry grinned. "Chicken curry? With rice, and those fibery things?"

"Bamboo shoots? Yes. I'll drop you back home and make a stop at the take-away?" Remus ducked into the staff lounge and emerged carrying their jackets. Harry thought that Remus looked like one of the gangsters in the American movies that Dean liked to watch when he buttoned his trenchcoat over his suit and turned the collar up against the rain. He turned up the collar of his own jacket, well aware that the mop of messy black hair flopping all over the place ruined the look - but he didn't really care. For once, he just wanted to mirror his role model.

"Right, chicken curry with fibery things. I wish the house-elves would make curry for me." Harry tucked his Divination book into his bag and tossed it over his shoulder. "Well, Dobby might, if I asked."

Remus shook his head quickly. "No, no... house-elves can NOT make good Indian food. It's a well documented fact. James was craving a chickpea mandaloo one weekend and went to ask the elves... it was sort of orangey and mushy, and tasted absolutely horrid... I think we ended up planting it on the Slytherin table the next morning."

Harry followed Remus down to the Tube station and grinned. A vision of Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle being forced to eat nothing but neon orange goo planted itself firmly in his mind's eye as they hopped the Tube over to Remus' flat. But then the image shifted. Crabbe was no longer at Hogwarts - no one knew what had happened to him - and Malfoy was no longer the sneering, smirking junior Death Eater they'd scorned.

And then another image flashed.

__

Voldemort towered over a woman, wearing a sinister sneer. She looked oddly familiar - dark hair, medium toned skin, dark eyes, probably of Indian descent. She cowered away from the wand he held directed at her.

Harry shivered and tried to shake the image. The potion he'd taken before leaving Hogwarts that morning was wearing off, and he certainly hadn't enough to last the weekend at this rate. It wasn't lasting as long as it used to.

Across the train, a brunette woman was rocking her child to sleep and a balding man, about Peter's size, was reading the Evening Register. Over the top of the everyday images lay the Vision.

__

"Your blood is pure, generations pure... keep it that way, join me," Voldemort hissed. "Resisting brings only death for you, and for your children."

He willed the vision away, but his will was never enough. Remus was singing quietly to himself, the Hogwarts School song to the tune of Danny Boy. The woman's scream echoed dischordantly as Voldemort leveled a kick in her side.

__

She curled to protect her stomach and ribs from attack. "Never," she wheezed, coughing blood. "They're at Hogwarts. Dumbledore will protect them."

Harry coughed as pain seared through his middle. He dug an old handkerchief from his pocket, where it waited at the ready, as the fits could strike at any moment. Coughing again, greatly aware of the spots of blood appearing on the white cloth, Harry noticed the woman across the way staring in horror. Remus had stopped singing and pulled Harry close. "Just hold on," he whispered, "we're almost home. You can lie down, there."

__

"That Mudblood loving fool can't protect them all. They walk to Hogsmeade... they fly on the Quidditch Pitch... they sneak into the Forbidden Forest for a midnight shag... No, they are hardly as safe as the old man would have you believe. He can keep Potter and Malfoy locked away, but not every student."Another savage kick was landed, this time at her back.

He winced, curling up against Remus on the bench and coughing desperately to breathe. The brunette woman was still staring, now clutching her baby to her chest, and the man reading the paper had set it aside to watch something much more interesting. Harry closed his eyes to block it out, focusing on the way Remus stroked his hair and rocked him and told him everything would be fine, even though he knew it wouldn't.

__

"I won't be the last to fight you! I'll not turn, my husband will not turn, and my daughters will not turn!" The woman's coughing grew more desperate. "Do you hear me? We will fight you!"

A wet drop landed on Harry's forehead. He glanced up between ragged breaths. Remus was crying, his eyes squeezed shut. "You're going to get better, Harry... I'm not going to let you go, too..."

__

Voldemort sneered, standing taller and pointing his wand down at the woman's heart. "You can fight... but you can't win... Avada Kedavra_..." The shooting green light filled the room, and the woman stopped moving and breathing and froze in death..._

And Harry let out a sob, as breath came back to him. The train had stopped, though Harry wasn't aware of when, and several passengers were filing off. Remus stood as well, slipping his arms around Harry to lever him to his feet and keep him standing. "Maida Vale... our stop, Harry..."

The man who had been reading the paper got up as well. "Do you need some help getting your son to hospital, sir? I'm a doctor. I can help." The man took Harry's other arm and helped him make it out of the station and onto the street.

"We've been," Remus said shortly. "Thank you, but he's being treated by the finest. They're doing everything they can."

The doctor nodded solemnly. "I understand. I'm... I'm very sorry. It's leukemia?"

Harry frowned. He wasn't _that_ sick yet, was he? Remus seemed to take offense at it and pulled Harry close to him. "No, it's not, and he's going to get better! Look, thank you for your help, but we've got to go. Come on, Harry." And he found himself being pulled across the street to Remus' building.

"Uncle Re, he was only trying to help. And I am sick." He tucked the handkerchief into his pocket. His hands were shaking horribly, though he tried desperately to calm them.

Remus supported Harry up the flights of stairs. "You're sick, but you don't have leukemia. You're going to get better. You are NOT going to die."

Harry winced, but stayed silent. It was a mystery why Remus hadn't accepted defeat yet, when it seemed as though everyone else had. Even Professor Trelawney had stopped predicting his death - it was too obvious even for her to point out. Poor Seamus had died twice by Bludger since the start of term and Dean should've been swallowed by the lake squid by now. Everyone but Harry had "fallen" to her predictions.

Remus opened the door and bustled Harry inside, getting him to lie on the sofa and tucking him in with a ratty blue afghan. Harry made a disgruntled noise, pushing himself up to a sitting postion. "I'm alright, Uncle Re, really. It's over for right now. He killed the woman. I'm fine."

The werewolf scowled and peered at Harry firmly. "Bruises?"

Harry rolled his eyes and pulled his grey school jumper over his head. Remus made sure to see to every bruise before he'd pronounce Harry good enough to go. The tie that the girls at Remus' school had hated was tossed aside, along with the starched white shirt of his Hogwarts uniform.

The bruise on his stomach really was spectacular. It looked as though Voldemort had hit something rather important with the first kick - maybe a broken rib, which caused the blood? Remus was examining his back too. The second kick had probably left an equally horrid bruise around his lower spine. "Hmm... he's done a right job, this time. Hold still and let me fix you up a bit." He snatched his wand from the table and went about repairing skin and bone. "Not quite as nicely as Madame Pomfrey would manage, but you'll heal up alright..."

At least he'd stopped coughing blood. "I'm a little hungry, Uncle Re. I'd love that chicken curry." Harry pulled his shirt back on before Remus could pull a Mrs. Weasley and tuck him into bed for the rest of his holiday. "It's just down the street, right?"

Remus nodded. "Over by the Tube station and around the corner, the same place we went before Christmas. I'll be back in just a few minutes... you'll be alright? The number for my cell phone is on the board by the counter -"

Harry gave a snort. "YES, Uncle Re, I know! I'm fifteen. I'm quite old enough to sit alone in a flat while you run for take-away. I'm not an invalid yet."

Perhaps the last bit had been too much, as Remus winced and gave a low sigh. "I'll be right back... hang in there, kid." Remus ruffled his hair and slipped out the front door.

Harry waited only until Remus' footsteps disappeared before jumping unsteadily to his feet and making for the kitchen. He had only a few minutes to make another dose of the potion, but he certainly needed it. The spare cauldron was below the sink with the Muggle pots and pans. His hands shook as he drew the ingredients from his trunk and prepared them. Perhaps that was a bit too much of that root - but there wasn't time to start over, Remus would be back in only a few moments. Just a little more lacewing -

"Harry, where are you?" The door opened. Harry looked up, face burning in guilt and ladle shaking uncontrollably in his hand.

Remus stared back. He set the food aside and crossed the room, taking the ladle from Harry's hand in order to examine the potion. The little scrap of paper with the directions was enough to give the truth. "Harry," he whispered, surprisingly calm, "did Severus tell you that you were allowed to make this today?"

It was too late to cover it up now. "No," Harry admitted. He couldn't bear to meet Remus' eye. He knew he shouldn't... "but Uncle Re, I really need it. Without the potion -"

"Harry, how long have you been making this potion for yourself?" Remus cut in. His voice was still very soft, but with an overlying tension that even orphan Harry could understand - he was in very serious trouble.

"Since Christmas," Harry sighed. He didn't bother to add any protest. It wouldn't help.

Rather than bursting into yells, as Uncle Vernon would've, Remus merely pulled out a chair and sank into it, burying his face in his hands. "I am very disappointed in you... I want you to go and watch the telly for a bit. We have to talk, but I need to calm down first."

Harry gulped and shrank back a bit. Remus certainly _looked_ calm. "But, Uncle Re, I -"

"NOW," Remus suddenly snapped, eyes flashing a very lupine yellow before fading to amber once more. Harry nodded slowly and backed toward the door. Perhaps waiting for the werewolf to calm down was the best idea, after all.

+

The programme flickered off as Remus slid the remote from Harry's hand and turned off the power to the telly. Harry shrunk back into the pillows a bit, very aware that an angry werewolf could be dangerous, even in human form. He'd known the potion was dangerous, but he'd take the danger over the visions any day.

Remus sat next to Harry on the sofa and set the remote aside. "Severus did warn you about the effects of the potion, correct?"

Harry had expected yelling, not questions. "Yes..." he admitted. He looked down at his hands, trying not to feel as guilty as he did.

"He told you that you could easily become addicted?"

Red was rising in his cheeks. How was it that Remus could make him feel terrible, when Uncle Vernon only made him angry? "Yes... but the visions, Uncle Re, I can't deal with them -"

"You were told that you'd be allowed to use the potion when it was safe. Taking it every day is not safe," Remus snapped. He then took a deep breath, reaching over to take Harry's trembling hands. "When did your hands start shaking like this? They weren't doing this in September."

"Halloween was the first time I spilt a cup at dinner because of it."

Remus nodded slowly. "Did you have the potion that night?"

Harry frowned and thought back to it. He and Ron and Hermione had all wanted to go to the big Halloween Feast, and Harry was afraid he'd have a vision in the midst of it. He'd just had a dose of the potion a few days before, but Snape had consented just for the night... but Harry had stolen a little extra to make it to the end of the week... "It got worse as the week went on. I had the potion more than once that week."

"And you didn't tell anyone about the side effects?" Remus frowned, taking Harry's chin in hand and turning his face to force him to meet his gaze. "Harry, that was very dangerous... just how many nights did you have the potion that week... and how many did Severus actually give you the potion for?"

"He gave me enough for two, Halloween and a few days before it." Harry gulped, trying to pull his chin away. "And... I took enough for the rest of the week... three days on top of what he gave me..."

Remus winced, letting go of Harry and sinking back against the cushions of the sofa. "Harry..." he gave a low sigh, rubbing at his face distractedly. "It sounds just like what your dad or Sirius would've done, but it was so dangerous... and the trembling just got worse from there? Until you can barely write..."

"But Madame Pomfrey said it was just a part of the visions, that they were affecting my motor skills -" Harry jumped in, but Remus shook his head.

"She didn't know you'd started taking more doses than you were allowed. It's a side effect of withdrawal from the Hyupnos Potion. You haven't overdosed, have you? Taken too much in a day?" Remus demanded. He sat up again, turning to peer closely at Harry.

Harry shifted away slightly. Ron had warned him, that day... "Christmas Eve. Professor Snape gave me a dose, but I'd already taken one. I didn't know -!"

Remus grabbed his shoulder and gave a firm squeeze. "You should've thought about it. Isn't it dangerous to overdose on regular Muggle things? Potions are even more dangerous! Harry, I know people... I knew people who died from doing stupid things like that!" He sighed again, standing from the sofa. "We're going back to Hogwarts. You can't stay here for the weekend, Harry."

He shot to his feet, jaw dropping. "But - Uncle Re, I promise I won't do it again, we had to get permission and everything - please don't make me go back yet -"

"Harry, this is dangerous! You've got to tell Professor Dumbledore what's happened. You're addicted to it; there's no way you can't be... you'll not be trusted with such a dangerous potion again for a long time, you know. Doing this was stupid and dangerous. That overdose on Christmas could've killed you." Remus turned and stormed toward the bedroom. "Come get your clothes. We'll take the Tube to Diagon Alley and floo to Hogwarts."

Harry let out half a sob, inching for the door. His hands kept shaking. He could've died, just from a stupid potion? Oh, what a mistake he'd made... and what a punishment he'd receive.

More visions... and nothing to stop them...

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	16. No Future

****

Author notes: Alrighty, one point five papers down... four point five papers to go. Don't be expecting frequent updates until this semester's out, even though I love you all! To (sort of) quote a recent review: 'Poor Sirius and Remus! Why does the world hate them?' Answer: I'm a sick, sick bastard. :) On with the show!

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Chapter Fifteen - No Future

Harry hated being the subject of pitying gazes but, following Snape and Remus down the hall in the direction of Dumbledore's office, it was understandable why such looks were falling upon him from his classmates. He knew he looked terrible. His hands were shaking even worse - Remus had told him it was because he'd not had a dose of the potion - and he knew the bags under his eyes had grown worse since Christmas. He looked ill, and he was well aware of it.

Remus, Ron, Hermione, and Dumbledore seemed unable to accept what was happening to him. But Madame Pomfrey had told Professor McGonagall. He was dying. And Madame Pomfrey didn't lie.

Remus and Snape had started to form some sort of escort from Hospital Wing to Dumbledore's office. Harry had found himself following the two men three different times since his return to Hogwarts. The first had been worst - he'd had to explain to Dumbledore just what he'd done. Snape had been there too, scowling as Harry told of the stolen potion, and McGonagall had taken points from Gryffindor. Why didn't they understand? He was only trying to stay alive!

Taking the potion meant that he didn't have to watch Voldemort's victims die, even if he felt the pain. Taking the potion meant he could spend whatever time he had left smiling with his friends and playing Quidditch and being just Harry. Without the potion, he went from being Just Harry to Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, and a Seer. Just one more title to the list. He wanted none of them.

"Why does he want me this time?" Harry asked quietly. He noticed he'd fallen back a bit in the midst of his thoughts and hurried to catch up with Remus and Snape.

"It's not about the potion, this time," Remus replied. He dropped back to walk at Harry's side. "Hopefully it will be something you'll find much better... we're going to talk about your family some."

Harry sighed, half in relief and half in disappointment. "Oh... to find someone who wants me."

Remus frowned and ruffled Harry's bangs. "Hey, there - we'll find the best ones just for you, alright? Don't lose heart."

It was hard not to lose heart, when Harry was quite aware how little time he'd probably have with this new family. He didn't want them. He wanted Sirius and Remus, or the Weasleys - they loved him. Harry didn't want to find he was as unwanted as Malfoy. And speaking of Malfoy... Harry lowered his voice. "If it's not about the potion, why's Snape here?"

"Sugar Quill," Snape announced to the gargoyle guarding Dumbledore's office. He turned abruptly, narrowing his eyes at Harry. "You'd do well to address me as Professor, even when you think I'm not listening. 5 points from Gryffindor for disrespect. And Professor Dumbledore asked it of me. That should be enough for you," he snapped before turning back to go up the stairs.

Harry sighed mournfully and followed, ignoring Remus' conciliatory pat on the shoulder. He felt sick from not having a dose of Hyupnos Potion today, and he'd lost a grand total of 70 points in the past week. He'd have to work very, very hard to make it up in the next Quidditch match, the one against Slytherin.

Dumbledore was waiting behind his desk at the top of the stairs, though he wasn't alone in the room. Fawkes was a blaze of red and orange feathers, preening at the start of his cycle of life. The portraits of the Headmasters and Headmistresses past were snoring as usual, and a random-looking assortment of quills, paperweights, bits, and bobs were scattered about on the desk and the shelves behind the old man. And there, sitting across a chessboard from the Headmaster, was the most unlikely of friendly opponents - Draco Malfoy.

He glanced up from the board in surprise. He looked better than the Christmas visit to the Weasleys, Harry noticed, but he certainly hadn't returned to the pristinely groomed aristocrat of years past. While his gazed flickered to Remus and Harry for a moment, it came to rest on Snape. "Professor Snape - I was just - you weren't in your office so I just came up here -" Malfoy fell silent under a disapproving stare from his guardian.

"Pardon me, Draco. I forgot we were to have tea this afternoon," Snape said simply. "I had other issues to consider."

Malfoy seemed to deflate under Snape's words, though Snape didn't seem to notice the change. The blonde boy's shoulders slumped and his gaze dropped to his hands. "If you'll excuse me, Headmaster, I don't wish to interrupt."

Dumbledore nodded and pushed his glasses up on his nose to peer closely at the chessboard. "I'd quite forgotten about this meeting myself, Draco. Perhaps we can finish this after supper? You seem to have me in check."

"That I do," Malfoy grinned. "I believe it's mate in six moves." He rose, slipping around the chair. "Until after dinner then, Headmaster... Professor," he acknowledged, passing Snape. He paused for a moment, as if awaiting some sort of response from the dour Head of Slytherin House, but none came.

Malfoy waited a moment too long, it seemed, as Snape swerved around him. "Go on, Draco, we've business," he snapped. Draco's face fell, Harry noticed, but he started moving quickly. He shoved Harry aside without a glance and disappeared down the stairs. Harry wondered what he'd been waiting for.

In the meantime, Remus and Snape both took seats across from Dumbledore, while Harry waited for the Headmaster to tell him what the summons was all about. "Sit, sit," he commanded. With a sigh, Harry slumped into the last seat. "Oh, don't look so down." Blue eyes twinkled in a manner which once seemed reassuring and now seemed only... contrived. "Now, how are you feeling today?"

"Sick," Harry snapped. He looked away from the cheerful blue eyes and stared instead at the preening phoenix. "Had to have Seamus recopy my essay for Transfiguration. Even I couldn't read the bloody thing." He tugged at his robes, trying to stay the tremours.

Snape scowled. "Watch your language, Potter."

Dumbledore only gave a lighthearted laugh. "I've heard much worse, Severus, often from you. Now, Harry... you'll feel better soon enough. Just learn from this mistake."

Oh, he'd learn. It would be too late by then, anyways. "What do you need me for today?" He had another essay to get done, and he'd need Seamus or Ron or Hermione to write for him.

"The end of term comes soon. It's time to search for someone who can take you in." Dumbledore tapped a rather large tome sitting on the edge of his desk. "This is a listing of the Potter family for generations past... there should be a link to at least one viable family within, wouldn't you agree?" Harry didn't answer as Dumbledore flipped open the book and set his palm on the first page. "Now, let's put this where we can all see it... _Revelo libra_."

An image of twisting branches sprang into the air, reaching upward from the book in a fuzzy gold. Off of the branches, as leaves, names faded into being. Many were in green, though Harry spotted a few in red and a few in blue dotting the golden branches. Then in black came dates of birth and death. Harry's eyes raked over the names floating high on the tree, even as branches kept springing up and stretching out. A long line of Potters formed the trunk... Acestes, Julius, Iarbus, Hermes, odd names he could place at the edge of his mind but didn't recognize.

Dumbledore was concentrating on the names near the point at which the book and the golden branches intersected. "Well, there you are, Harry..." A tiny red name, nearly touching the page. Harry Potter, 1980 - ? "Hmm, I do hope you intend to marry someday, Harry. The Potters don't seem to have produced as many children as I'd remembered. You'll want to continue on the line..."

Harry wrinkled his nose and noticed Snape rolling his eyes. Marriage? Not likely. Who knew how many years were left? If it wasn't the illness, it would be Voldemort or the Death Eaters. With a mental shrug, he leaned forward to look more closely at the little names near his. There was James (1960-1981) and another name next to it, Henry Jr. (1954-1977), both in red. "Dad had a brother?" Harry asked in surprise. A much older brother - six whole years difference. Why hadn't anyone mentioned him before? Wait, but Remus had - at the Burrow.

Remus seemed uncomfortable. "Yes. Henry was a Gryffindor, too. He... died in the war." No one elaborated. Harry frowned for a moment, questions about his dead uncle flickering through his mind - but they didn't matter. The man was dead, and without children.

"And this one here, in the green, Julius?" Harry asked. "He was my uncle, too? Oh, look! He married a Weasley! Erm... Morgainne? Must be one of Mr. Weasley's sisters or something... does that mean I'm sort of related to them?"

More uncomfortable gazes. "Sort of," Remus said.

Dumbledore pointed further up on the chart to more red names. "You certainly are related by blood, though not closely. Here we are, Demetrius Potter and Guinevere Weasley were married in 1698. Her brother is direct ancestor to your friend Ron, I believe."

Despite the discomfort of the teachers and Remus, Harry was enthralled by the spiraling gold branches. "Who else am I related to? Many people that I know?"

Snape leaned forward and pointed to two separate branches. "A Snape married in here, and here. Megara Snape married David McKinnon in 1886, and their daughter, Victoria, married Ulysses Potter right here, in 1910. Their only child was your grandfather, Henry." Ulysses name was green, but Henry's was red. The others were green too, except for David McKinnon's, which was the only yellow name Harry could locate on the chart.

In childlike fascination, Harry pulled his feet onto the chair and leaned forward. "Wow... McKinnon? That name is familiar... Professor Dumbledore, did you know my grandfather? And... Ulysses? What an odd name."

Rather suddenly, the kind smile faded from the Headmaster's face to be replaced by a strained frown and oddly pale face, behind his long white beard and glasses. "Yes, I knew Ulysses. And Henry, as well. Henry was born in 1913, and Ulysses died in 1919, rather... unexpectedly. His mother had been... badly affected by Cruciatus in '17, and couldn't raise Henry... so I did."

All Harry could do was gape. "Why did you do that?"

"My children were grown, and Ulysses' mother was my aunt. There was enough blood there to make the transfer easy. Henry... I was very proud of Henry. He was an Unspeakable for years. When he died at the hands of a Death Eater the year before your father graduated Hogwarts, and mere months after your uncle's death, I took in your father. And then he died, too." Dumbledore didn't meet Harry's eyes. Harry couldn't remember a time he'd seen the Headmaster look so... old.

Harry pushed it aside and kept asking questions - after all, it could be the only chance to talk about his father's family that he was every given. "How did Ulysses die, then? Was it a Dark Wizard?"

"No. It was a Light Wizard." Dumbledore said shortly. Before Harry could do so much as gape, the old man pointed at another section of the family tree. "As Severus was saying, the Snapes have crossed the Potters twice since the 1600's. The blood is thin, but provides a possibility. None of the McKinnons survived the war, so any possibilities from that section are gone. Your half-uncle's mother's family is completely out of the question..."

"Why's that?" Harry shot in quickly, before Dumbledore could go on. He peered at the golden branches connecting to Henry Potter (1913-1977). "Hesperia Nott. She has relatives living."

Snape gave a snort. "If you'd like to throw yourself at the Dark Lord's feet, I would suggest walking right into the forest now, rather than going looking for Nott."

Harry pursed his lips in confusion. "What? I wasn't particularly planning -"

"He's a Death Eater, Potter," the Potions Master growled. "Headmaster, wouldn't it be best to move to the other side of the tree? All you'll find on Henry Potter's side are Snapes, Malfoys, and a Lestrange or two."

Dumbledore gave a sigh. "Yes, of course. Snapes, Malfoys, Lestranges, and an out-of-place aunt of mine. Oh, and a Black, right there! Mmm... this is your grandmother, Henry's second wife." He poked at a red name and the entire twist of branches moved a bit, accenting her name and those on her side of the tree - these were mostly red and blue.

"Mercy Ross," Harry read off. He scanned along the line, looking for relatives. "Oh... this one died just this year... Henry Ross."

Snape's eyes flickered along the length of the Ross line before giving a smirk. "Ahh, we may have a winner, Albus..." He pointed, with a smirk, at a red name a bit farther out than Harry had managed to read yet.

He squinted and read it. Then, he shook his head and read it again. "No... Headmaster, I don't think -"

Dumbledore looked positively ecstatic as he read the name. "Perfect!" he crowed. "I always told her that she could use to have a child of her own to care for, rather than just being a professor... I do believe you'll both learn a fair bit about life, Harry!"

Harry kept gaping. Minerva McGonagall (1923 - ?). Oh, would Ron have kittens. "Professor Dumbledore, you can't actually believe this to be the best-"

"Well, should anything change in Remus' situation, you would go to live with him, of course. However, your great-grandmother's niece is Minerva... the blood is there, and thicker than I'd imagined... Oh, how wonderful! Minerva usually stays here over the summers - you'll be able to get to know Severus and Draco much better, my boy!"

It was all Harry could do to keep himself from smacking his forehead against the table in despair.

+

He was allowed to go back to Gryffindor Tower after the meeting. Ron and Hermione were in the Common Room as he entered on Katie Bell's heels, as he hadn't been told the new password. Hermione was talking rapidly and Ron, shockingly enough, had his nose in an old book. They both jumped to their feet as they noticed him. "Harry!" Hermione exclaimed. "Oh, Harry, we've been so worried!"

Ron shoved the book under a stack of papers and grinned brightly. "Hey, mate! Seamus said he helped with the Transfiguration essay... could you tell me what he said? I'm having a bloody horrid time with it, and Hermione here refuses to help me."

"I don't refuse to _help_," Hermione replied shortly, giving a sniff. "I just refuse to let you copy mine! You should know that much by now!"

Harry rounded the sofa and sunk into the plush red pillows next to Hermione. "We can do it later. I'll be needing help on Herbology later, though." He glanced down at his shaking hands and blushed. This wasn't a time to be embarrassed about something he couldn't control - these were his friends. Hermione and Ron would never make fun of him for it.

"Are you feeling better today, Harry?" Hermione asked. She'd restrained herself from commenting on warnings, up until this point, but Harry could sense an 'I told you so' just waiting on her tongue.

Well, he couldn't lie, even if it would give her more fodder. "No, not really. Madame Pomfrey said the symptoms won't be their worst until tomorrow or the next day, though. Right now, my head just hurts. And I feel sick, though that might have something to do with Dumbledore's news," he sighed.

Before Hermione could begin harping on his health, Ron butted in. "So, what'd Dumbledore want today? More about the potion? Maybe he found a way to block the visions?" Ron, oddly enough, shot a glare at Hermione with the last part.

Harry didn't really want to know why. "No, wasn't about the potion. We looked at my family tree to try to find someone for me to stay with over the summer."

That caught the attention of both Hermione and Ron, though Ron looked almost... worried. "Oooh, what did you learn?" Hermione asked. Genealogy did seem to be something she'd enjoy, Harry mused. "Are you related to many people? I've heard bloodlines are fairly muddled among purebloods, because of how few wizards there are. Is that true?" She seemed excited enough to bounce in her seat. It was almost unnerving.

"Oh, plenty of odd relations!" Unnerving, maybe, but Harry found himself to be almost as excited. "Dumbledore _raised_ my granddad. And I had an uncle and a half-uncle, but they were both killed in the war. Let's see... there's a Weasley a long, long ways back! And the McKinnons, too."

"The ones who were slaughtered by You-Know-Who in 1980?" Hermione asked in an astonished whisper. "Was he trying to wipe out your entire family?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't know. Professor Dumbledore hasn't ever told me exactly why Voldemort attacked my family. Uncle Re hasn't said anything, either. There were some other very odd ones, too... There are at least two Snapes, and Professor Snape said there were Malfoys and Lestranges, too. And my half-uncle's mum was a Nott. I guess everyone's family tree has a few Death Eaters in it."

"Some more than others," Ron replied, giving a slight wince.

It seemed almost as if he was hiding something from Harry. "What do you mean?"

Ron turned very pale, which made his freckles stand out in contrast across the bridge of his nose. "Um... well, Harry, there are some wizarding lines that are traditionally a bit more... Dark than others. That doesn't mean everyone's evil," he rushed on to say, "but... you know, like the Malfoys. They're Dark for generations back. Draco's got to be the first Light Malfoy in centuries, and _he's_ only Light because he'd be dragon-fodder otherwise!"

Harry frowned. "Right... what does that have to do with anything, though?"

"Never mind," Ron muttered. "Listen, Harry, why don't we go up and work on that Herbology project? Hermione was doing some research things, weren't you, Hermi?"

She wrinkled her nose. "Please, don't call me that, it's terrible... but yes, I was researching. We can work on Transfiguration after supper if you want, Ron."

Ron nodded and grabbed hold of Harry's sleeve. "Right," he replied, dragging Harry in the direction of the stairs. "She's being a bloody nuisance," he hissed as they went, "making me do her work... she made me crossreference all of these pages in three different sodding books! And it was all poetry and if Rowena Ravenclaw _actually_ swooned at Slytherin's feet and begged him to ravish her, I'll toss myself off the Astronomy Tower!"

Harry chuckled. It was good to know that Hermione was still working on the stolen poetry book, even if it seemed as though she'd hit several dead ends. "Right, Ron... a nuissance... I wasn't finished telling you about what Dumbledore showed me, though."

He looked pale and uncomfortable again. "Well, it doesn't mean anything about you, who your relatives were, you know. You're still Harry, and you're still my friend."

"What are you going on about?" he demanded. "It's nothing bad, I suppose, just weird."

"Oh." Ron frowned and peered over at Harry, even while dragging him up to the dormitory. "I was, er... you know, being related to Snape's kind of... well, what are _you_ going on about?" he countered.

Harry narrowed his eyes, but when Ron didn't elaborate, he gave a sigh. "Fine, if you don't want to tell me... well, my grandfather has loads of odd people related to him, but my grandmother has the only one who I could really stay with. And you'll never _guess_ who it is..."

Ron wrinkled his nose. "Snape. No, that's too horrible... um, Madame Pomfrey? Then you'd have to put up with her babying you and tucking you up in bed if you so much as look a little off colour -"

"No, not that bad!" Harry laughed. "Although... come exam time, it could be... It's McGonagall. She's my great-grandmum's niece."

The red-head looked ready to choke. "Oh my God... you have to live with bloody _McGonagall_!? Lord, Harry, I'm so sorry!"

Harry gave a snort of laughter and pushed his way into the dormitories. "Oh, c'mon, Ron. It can't be that bad... at least I'm not related to Trelawney!"

+

The tremours grew worse as night came on. Harry curled up on his side with the hangings of his bed drawn shut as the other boys slept on, oblivious to their roommate's problems. His entire body shook, though not so violently as during one of the Cruciatus seizures that had accompanied most of the earlier visions. They'd stopped, at some point, though Harry wasn't sure why - was Voldemort no longer using Cruciatus, or had something changed?

Harry rubbed his hands over his face, wishing desperately for sleep to come. At least in the Hospital Wing, Madame Pomfrey would offer him the Dreamless Sleep potion - though it wouldn't block visions, it would get him over his insomnia. He wondered if sleeplessness was yet another of the side effects of withdrawal from Hyupnos.

A scene flashed across his mind. _Three in a room with Voldemort, one on his knees, two cowering away_. Harry cringed, longing for even half a dose of the potion to block the worst of the Vision. He wished it away... but wishing never helped.

__

The kneeling one, familiar somehow, gave a low sob. "Please, sir, don't do this... we've never worked against you..."

"I offer you glory and you turn it down! Zabini, do you realize what you turn away from? You could be powerful... or you could be dead. A wealth of tomorrows or no future... it's your choice, Ian. Serve me, or I rid England of your fence-sitting family." Voldemort sneered, sliding his wand from a pocket in his robes. "The choice is now..."

Ian Zabini - he looked to be Charlie Weasley's age - glanced back at the two behind him. One man, one woman; likely his parents. Was this Blaise Zabini's family? The elder man shook his head decisively and the woman closed her eyes, reaching over to take the elder man's hand. Ian turned back to Voldemort. "Hmm, famous last words?" he murmured. "How about 'bugger off'?" Ian snapped.

Voldemort's lip curled. "A pity to waste your cunning, but any enemy of mine is a friend of Dumbledore's. Avada Kedavra._" And in a green flash, Ian dropped limply to the ground. Voldemort stepped over the body without any sort of response. "And the two of you will be joining your son? Ahh, Priam, Helena... so sorry it had to come to this... I'll make sure to give your daughter your regards when she's brought to me as well..." Two more flashes, and the Zabinis were crumpled on the floor._

He didn't even bother to torture anymore, Harry mused briefly before the churning of his stomach forced a beeline for the bathroom off the dormitory. He had another Vision to report, then... and not a wink of sleep to provide recovery. Just a bit of the potion would tide him over for the night...

Harry retched again, the faces of Blaise Zabini's family etched into his mind. There was only one thing left to do... he needed his sleep, and with the symptoms on top of the visions, he'd never get it...

As soon as his stomach calmed a little, he crept back into the dormitory and inched open the top of his trunk to keep it from creaking. There, at the bottom of his trunk, under the Quidditch magazines and robes and the graded assignments were two vials of the Hyupnos Draught, hidden away for such a need. There was easily enough for seven full doses, maybe even eight... if he just took half a dose, it wouldn't block the visions out completely, but would soothe the symptoms of withdrawal and allow a bit of sleep...

After fighting down a flash of guilt - he'd promised Remus he wouldn't take any more - Harry took just a mouthful from one of the vials, corked it again, and buried it back under the papers and Quidditch paraphernalia. It took only a moment for his stomach to calm more and the headache to retreat, and the tremours to become manageable. Locking the trunk, he crawled back into bed. He had about seven doses left, just in case. He'd done the right thing... he had... 

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	17. This Moment, My Last

  
**Author notes:** It's been a long time since I've written or updated this or my other fic. I figure a reason should be in order. Someone I knew committed suicide the weekend before finals. It may be a while before I post again. It will be quite a while before another chapter of Prayer of a Child is written. This story, despite deeply ironic chapters to come, is in fact complete and needs only to be formatted before upload. I don't know if I can deal with reading it right now. I hope you enjoy this chapter... and just remember, if you're in pain, that there are support networks out there for you. Go talk to someone if you hurt. 

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Chapter Sixteen - This Moment, My Last

Harry couldn't help but watch Blaise Zabini during breakfast the next morning. She sat at one end with Malfoy and a few younger Slytherins whose names Harry had never bothered to learn. Laughing and smiling, she hadn't a clue what had befallen her family the night before, and the danger that now faced her, even at Hogwarts. When Malfoy had been attacked by Crabbe back in September, he'd finally realized that Hogwarts was as defenseless to the attacks of a Dark Wizard as any town - it was just a bit harder to approach. There were Death Eater children sitting right down the table from the girl. Would her Housemates turn her over?

Without question, yes.

"Why're you watching the Slytherins?" Ron muttered, poking at his third serving of breakfast. "Sweet on Zabini, or something?"

Harry wrinkled his nose. "Ugh, no! I just..." He slumped against the table with a sigh. "Vision. More dead. I've got to tell Professor Dumbledore about it later. And the one this weekend, I forgot to tell him when he was chewing me out about the potion."

Hermione gave a loud sniff and peered disapprovingly at Harry. "Your own fault, you know."

"Oh, come off it, Hermione," Ron countered in Harry's defense. "How would you like it if you couldn't sleep and you had to watch people die? He had a bloody good reason for doing it, even if I'm still mad at him for lying to me." Ron's grin was enough to let Harry know he didn't really mean it.

Harry couldn't bring himself to smile back. "He killed three people last night, and one this past weekend. And both families have children at Hogwarts. I just don't know who the children of the woman killed over the weekend are... not Slytherins, I don't think. There aren't any Indian students in Slytherin." He gave a sigh and turned from his friends. "Hey, Seamus, could you pass me the marmalade?"

"Sure." Seamus sent the bowl down with a grin before turning back to the girl sitting next to him. Parvati grinned as well, taking up the conversation Harry had interrupted.

He dropped the bowl, which shattered on the edge of the table, sending splatters of orange marmalade all over his robes and all over Ron. Harry didn't notice, eyes locked on Parvati's smiling face. "Bloody hell," was all he managed to whisper through the uproar from Ron. The woman had seemed familiar... and now he knew why...

Harry pushed away from the table. "Gotta get a clean shirt," he mumbled, backing up quickly. Hermione was demanding something of him, but he turned and pushed past a few Hufflepuffs into the silence of the hallway.

His hands were shaking. He needed another dose of the potion, but he wasn't allowed. He felt sick and stumbled in the direction of the loo before a wave of exhaustion swept over him and he slumped against the wall. His knees couldn't keep him upright, they were shaking so badly, and he sunk to the ground, already in the throws of another vision.

__

It was a different home, with sunlight streaming in the kitchen windows over the scene. Once again, Harry recognized the victims, though this time it was two - a man and a woman, of Oriental descent. A circle of Death Eaters kept the pair in place as Voldemort poked through the cupboards. "Where is it, Chang?"

Harry choked back a sob - these were Cho's parents. First she'd lost her boyfriend, and now her parents? And both were because of Harry... If it wasn't for Harry, Voldemort wouldn't be back... "I don't know what you're talking about," Mr. Chang snapped. One of the Death Eaters behind him stepped up and smacked the back of his head in response.

Voldemort gave a snort. "I know you went to the old fool's meeting. He thinks I don't have spies of my own? More the fool is he! Where are the papers?"

"Not here," Mrs. Chang replied. "He didn't give them to us! They're in Gringotts. Even you_ can't get them there."_

"They aren't in Gringotts." Voldemort stepped forward. "You hold your daughter's life in your hands with your own. Who has the list?"

"We don't know!" Mr. Chang shouted, ducking away from the slap of a Death Eater. 

Voldemort's serpentine face morphed into a sneer. "Fine, then... have it your way..." He raised his wand. 

Harry snapped back to reality with two flashes of green light. Faces swam into focus crouching over him - blonde hair, black hair... "Malfoy?" he croaked, blinking in confusion.

The Slytherin held out a hand. "Breakfast is about to end. You're lucky we found you before the crowds came running out. No seizures today?"

With only a bit of hesitation, Harry allowed Malfoy to help him up to his feet. "You're being nice to me," he stated, frowning. "Why?"

Malfoy gave a snort of indignation. "You're welcome. I just figured... hey, we're in the same mess, why bother being nasty without a reason?"

"I have to get to the Headmaster's office," Harry replied quickly, taking a step away from Malfoy and his friend - Blaise Zabini. His eyes flickered to Blaise and stayed there - he was unable to look away, filled with guilt. He had to tell Dumbledore about the Changs and the Zabinis and Mrs. Patil.

"What happened?" Malfoy demanded, reaching out and grabbing Harry's shoulder to force him to answer.

Normally, Harry would've merely shoved Malfoy back, but the need to go quickly to Dumbledore overrode pride. "Voldemort. Killed someone. I have to go."

"We've got Potions now," Blaise Zabini shot in. Harry was fairly sure he'd never heard the girl speak before. She had a lovely, tremulous alto voice. "Snape will skin your hide if you don't show up."

Harry winced. Potions... and Snape would probably be in a bad mood after admitting his relation to Harry... "Could you... tell him about what happened? You saw it. You know I'm not making up excuses to skip class." Asking a favour of a Slytherin? Inexcuseable... but then again, Malfoy sometimes seemed to be something else without his powerful father to hide behind.

Malfoy shrugged. "Snape will probably just chew me out for talking to a Gryffindor... but hey, I can't get any Slytherins angrier with me, anymore. What do you think, Blaise? Do we help the Gryffindor?"

Zabini's lips curled into a frown. "Well, I suppose we'll have to get along with him after graduation. Why not?"

And then, suddenly, Malfoy stuck out his hand. Another moment flashed from Harry's memory - of Malfoy offering a hand of friendship long ago, before they'd even reached Hogwarts. That day, Harry had turned him down. "What do you say, Potter? A truce... for both of our sakes?"

He hesitated only a moment. "A truce. Let's stop hurting each other for no good reason." They clasped hands for only a moment before Harry pulled away. "I've got to go. Dumbledore needs to hear what I've Seen."

"I'll try to keep my godfather off your back," Malfoy replied. He continued with a snort. "Not like it'll help... he doesn't even listen to Dumbledore, most of the time, why should he bother with me?"

Harry wasn't given time to answer, as the two Slytherins turned and headed for the dungeon. He went the other way, pausing to give the password, Sugar Quill still, to the gargoyle, which sprung aside to allow Harry access. Up the stairs... and, somehow unsurprisingly, the old man sat behind his desk, waiting for Harry.

Professor Dumbledore set aside a stack of papers and adjusted his glasses. "News about Voldemort, Harry?"

He nodded sullenly. "Three sets of murders since Friday afternoon... I didn't tell the first set, because of the problems with the potion..." Harry couldn't help but blush in guilt, as he was still taking the Hyupnos Draught, right under his teachers' noses.

He gave a slow nod. "Did you recognize them? Were they the same types - recruitments gone wrong - or were there differences?"

"All of the dead have children at Hogwarts," Harry reported. Slipping into a mode of pure recitation let him be calm, at least for a few moments. "Friday afternoon, I think it was Parvati's mum. First non-Slytherin I've Seen, unless Mrs. Patil was one."

"No. She was Ravenclaw," Dumbledore murmured. He pulled over a stack of parchment and scribbled something on it. "Go on, Harry."

"Last night, I think it was a bit before midnight, he killed Ian Zabini and two others, Priam and Helena by name, I guess them to be the parents? Blaise Zabini's family?" Harry winced at Dumbledore's solemn nod and the continued scribble of the quill. "Just a few minutes ago, he killed Mr. and Mrs. Chang. That was different. It wasn't a recruitment. He was demanding some papers, from a meeting Mr. Chang had with you... but Mr. Chang said he didn't have them."

The quill's scratching had stopped abruptly. "He didn't have them. I mailed them to Sirius." Dumbledore winced visibly. "I... excuse me, Harry. I need to inform certain people of what has happened. Please wait here for a few moments." Leaving the parchment, Dumbledore rose and disappeared through a side door.

Harry sat patiently for a few minutes, until boredom overcame any qualms he had about poking through the Headmaster's belongings. Almost immediately, he reached for the big book about his family, which was still sitting on the desk. He flipped it open, eager to learn anything else the pages might have to offer about his past.

Dumbledore had mentioned that Ulysses Potter had died by a Light Wizard's hand, Harry remembered. Curious to learn more, he flipped through until the name came up and started skimming.

****

Ulysses Potter **(1851-1919)** - Born to Hermes Potter and Abigail Dumbledore. Attended Hogwarts from 1862 until 1869 as a member of Slytherin House; Seeker on the Slytherin team (1863-1869). Entered work with the Ministry in 1870. Held positions as Head of Internal Affairs and Head of International Affairs. Married Victoria McKinnon in 1902, one son, Henry, born 1913. Fired from Ministry in 1913 under charges of use of Dark Magic. Escaped custody before trial. Charges: believed to be involved in the April Massacre of 1899, along with father, Hermes Potter. Accused of the 1911 deaths of Herbert Crewe, Godric Avery, Ron Jones, and Elizabeth Leeds. Accused of spearheading the 1915 attack on the Dublin Academy of Magic - 23 deaths. Accused of the 1917 attack which left wife, Victoria McKinnon, in St. Mungo's after prolongued use of the Cruciatus Curse. Believed to be mentor to Gustav Grindelwald. Killed in 1919 by Auror Albus Dumbledore (cousin).

Harry slumped back in his seat in shock. Dumbledore had killed his great-grandfather? His great-grandfather had been a Dark Wizard, and a Slytherin as well? And it looked as though Hermes Potter had been Dark as well, from the sentence about the massacre in 1899. All those deaths, on Ulysses' hands... Dumbledore had looked particularly uncomfortable at the mention of this name, and with good reason...

But they'd been uncomfortable with the name Henry Potter, Jr., as well. He flipped quickly through the pages, toward the names at the back of the book. Though shorter, the entry revealed just as much.

****

Henry Potter, Jr. (1954-1977) - Born to Henry Potter and Mercy Ross. Attended Hogwarts from 1965 until 1972 as a member of Gryffindor House; Beater on the Gryffindor team (1970-1972); Dueling Captain (1971-1972). Reporter for Daily Prophet beginning in 1973 until death in 1977. Killed in duel with Auror Frank Longbottom. Known Death Eater.

He flipped through more pages, almost desperate to find something different. Slytherins... Dark Witches and Wizards... every one...

When Dumbledore entered the room again, Harry was shaking violently, flipping frantically through the pages. Harry sent an accusing glare at the man. "Why didn't you tell me!?" he demanded, voice hoarse with emotion. "My whole family... why didn't you tell me they were all evil!"

"Harry... give me the book..." Dumbledore held out his hand, moving swiftly across the room. "Professor McGonagall will be here in a moment to talk to you about the summer... Now please, calm down and give me that."

He did more than give it to the professor; Harry stood and sent the book hurtling across the room. Fawkes let out a loud shriek as the tome smashed into a potrait of Headmaster Dippet, sending the man scurrying into the next painting over. "The Sorting Hat tried to put me in Slytherin... that's why, isn't it! Because of my family! You killed my great-grandfather! Neville's dad killed my uncle!"

The Headmaster grabbed Harry's shoulder and forced him back into his seat. "That doesn't make you like them. Henry and James were as righteous and as Light as men could be! Your bloodline has nothing to do with your morals!"

Harry's thoughts flickered back to Ron's words on the staircase in the Gryffindor dormitory. "Ron knows what I am," he croaked. "Who else knows? Does everyone but me know?"

"Of course not," Dumbledore gave a snort. No hint of the gentle twinkle was visible in his eyes, only seriousness. "About Henry, Jr. and Julius? Yes, I'm sure most adults remember the scandal of that... my Henry was an Unspeakable, you know... but even a Gryffindor can go bad, Harry. Peter Pettigrew is proof of it. But yes, some people know... and some will hold it against you, once you leave Hogwarts..."

"Oh, so I'll be not just the Boy Who Lived anymore? I'll be the Boy Who Might Be a Dark Wizard? Malfoy overheard some of you talking in the Hospital Wing when I was unconscious months ago - he told me that someone spoke of me ending up as the next Dark Lord! I'll admit, the similarities are there, but just being raised by the Dursleys didn't seem enough to cause that. But it's not the Dursleys anyone is worried about, is it! It's who I am! I could just be a natural born killer!" Harry tried to shrug his shoulder from the old man's grasp, but Dumbledore held firm.

A frown creased the Headmaster's face. "I don't believe that in the least. You've proved yourself to be moral beyond what I'd hoped for. Older members of society - especially those who lived through the wars at the end of the 19th century - will hold your blood against you. Most others will not. And once you defeat Voldemort, not a man or woman in our world will doubt your loyalty."

Harry gave a loud snort. "You truly expect me to kill Voldemort like this? I can't even write an essay - how am I supposed to hold my wand straight? The way things are going, I won't live to see the day!"

"And what is that supposed to mean, Mr. Potter? Once you're over the addiction, everything should be manageable -"

"I'm dying!" Harry cut in with a snarl. At the blank look which stole over Dumbledore's face, he elaborated. "I was listening to Madame Pomfrey speaking with Professor McGonagall. She said I'm dying."

"She's wrong."

"She's a mediwitch! How can she be wrong!? I've seen what I look like in the mirror! On the Underground, some Muggle doctor thought I had leukemia! I look like I'm dying, the mediwitch says I'm dying - I think it must be the truth. I'm sick of everyone trying to hide things from me!" Harry managed to gain his feet, wrenching his shoulder from Dumbledore's grasp. However firm, the old man couldn't be a physical match for an angry, Quidditch-toned teenager.

Dumbledore made another grab to stop him from leaving, but Harry managed to dodge out of the way. "Harry, I believe there are ways to stop the connection with Voldemort. You'd be cured immediately."

Harry backed toward the door. "Then why haven't you stopped the visions, then!? Because you can't! Either that, or I'm just another pawn in the battle, and you're using me for information! No matter the reason, I'm still Seeing what that bastard does, and I'm sick to death of it! Do you hear me?! You're NOT going to have control anymore! If you want to go kill Voldemort, do it yourself - you killed my great-grandfather, you seem to be good at it!" It had been the cruelest remark Harry could think of, but he didn't wait around to see Dumbledore's response. Instead, Harry fled the office.

McGonagall grabbed him halfway back to the Gryffindor Tower. "Mr. Potter!" she scolded, "There's no need for such childish behavior!"

"Get off me!" He tore himself away. Everyone was in class. There was no one available to hear him mouth off, which was why he allowed himself the luxury. "Bugger off! Can't you see I want to be alone!?"

Though "Potter! 10 points from Gryffindor, Potter! Get back here!" trailed down the corridor after him, he didn't stop; didn't look back. "Veritas," he snapped at the portrait of the Fat Lady, slipping into the empty Common Room.

Truth. What an ironic password. Truth was what he'd been denied for so long.

Could he be like them? He took the stairs two at a time up to his dormitory and slammed the door behind himself, locking it. Could he be evil? Could he be a Death Eater; feel no remorse as he killed, like his uncles and his great-grandfather?

Harry collapsed at the foot of his bed. The tremors in his hands and knees were too severe to ignore. His stomach churned, his head ached, and the words of the book ran constantly through his head. How many had Ulysses Potter killed? Dumbledore wanted him to kill Voldemort... if he killed once, would he find he liked it? Was it in his blood?

And then, unwanted, came a flash of another room. _Voldemort had turned his wand on a Death Eater. The man quivered at his feet. "Avery, Avery... you've not found a map? There must be one... it's one of the oldest buildings in Scotland..."_

Muffling a scream of despair in the fabric of his comforter, Harry flipped open the top of his trunk before the vision overtook him completely. Without thought for rationing, or even for dose size, Harry drank the entire vial of Hyupnos Draught. The tremors stopped.

Harry picked up the second vial and stared for only a moment before drinking it as well. In a remarkably steady hand - remarkable because of the way his vision was slowly floating - he grabbed a quill and a scrap of parchment from the top of his trunk. He wrote.

__

Uncle Re, I'm sorry. -Harry

He set it aside and struggled to climb onto his bed. He wasn't sure what had prompted him to take the second vial, but in the haze overtaking him, he wasn't sure he cared.

He wondered what Ron would say.

Gray faded to black.


	18. To Redeem This Empty Life

  
**Author notes:** Once again, I apologize for the long wait between updates. As my last note said, the end of my college year was painful in many ways. This story, as mentioned earlier, has already been written in its entirety. The similarity of topic and reality was too much to handle.

This is not a bridge between parts. This is a bridge within Harry's section. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter Seventeen - To Redeem this Empty Life

One Blaze of Glory

"I bet he's just not feeling well," Seamus suggested. "He looked rather off at the table at breakfast, and then he dropped the marmalade all over himself... his hands were shaking badly, and he was staring at me and Parvati as if we were about to jump him at any moment."

Ron frown and slung his backpack over his shoulder, following Seamus and Hermione from the Potions dungeon. Harry had been acting funny, that was true... but what if he was really sick? What if he was in danger? "What class do we have next? Transfiguration, right?"

Hermione nodded. "Of course. You should know our timetables by now, Ron, it's April!"

He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, Hermione. Look, I'm worried about Harry. Seamus is right, he was looking odd at breakfast, and if he's had another seizure, he might need help. I'm going to run back to the tower... could you let Professor McGonagall know it's for Harry?"

"I'll go too," Seamus offered. When Hermione started to protest, he gave a snort to cut her off. "If he needs help, someone will have to stay while the other goes for a professor. I'm not trying to get out of class. Really."

"If she takes points, it's not my fault," Hermione griped. She grabbed Dean Thomas' shoulder and dragged him off toward class, ensuring she wouldn't be the only one there.

Ron hurried toward the Gryffindor dormitories, pausing only long enough for Seamus to catch up once he'd realized Ron had dashed off. "I'm sure he's alright," Ron said, "he can take care of himself. I just want to make sure, you know?"

Seamus nodded. "He's your best mate. If Dean was this sick, I'd be worried too." They skidded to a stop in front of the Fat Lady. "Veritas."

The portrait seemed to take ages to open, and Ron hopped from foot to foot in impatience. He wasn't sure why, but he had a terrible feeling that something bad had happened to Harry. There was no evidence for it, just the odd behaviour of the Boy Who Lived at breakfast... but Ron knew that Harry wouldn't miss class for something silly...

He was halfway up the stairs before Seamus caught up to him again and shoved the dormitory door open with a kick, snapping the lock - it had been locked? "Harry?" Ron called. "Harry, are you in here? Are you alright?"

Silence. Ron and Seamus exchanged worried glances before Ron crossed to Harry's bed. The first thing he noticed was a foot extended over the edge of the mattress. He dashed forward and bounced onto the mattress beside Harry, grabbing his shoulders. "Harry? Mate, wake up, we've got Transfiguration!" Despite the shaking, Harry didn't respond.

"Ron... I don't know if he's breathing..." Seamus whispered, eyes wide. He rounded the other side of the bed and knelt to listen to Harry's breath. "No, it's there... but barely..."

Ron seized Harry's wrist and felt frantically for a pulse. It was almost gone. "Oh, God... Seamus, go for Madam Pomfrey, quick!"

Seamus was off in an instant, leaving Ron to roll Harry onto his back. There was no blood anywhere, so he hadn't been stabbed. He was still alive, so it hadn't been the Killing Curse. A glint of sunlight on glass caught Ron's eye as he took Harry's pulse again. Climbing off the bed, Ron knelt beside two empty vials, quite large ones, that were lying on the ground beside Harry's open trunk. The contents of the trunk were spilt across the floor, as though someone - Harry? - had been rooting through it.

He picked up one of the vials and sniffed at the contents for a moment before a very recognizable odor came to mind - it was crushed lavender, one of the more mundane ingredients of the potion Harry had been making for himself. The dangerous one. The one he wasn't allowed to take anymore.

With a loud curse, Ron carefully replaced the vial. Just how dangerous was the potion, and what could that much do to a person? Ron backed up, away from the vials, and tripped, falling against the small table beside Harry's bed. Though he smacked his head rather hard, the accident brought one more piece of evidence to light. A scrap of parchment fluttered from the table and into Ron's lap, Harry's slanted writing coming into focus. "Uncle Re... I'm sorry...?" Ron read softly.

And then his eyes widened with sudden comprehension. The paper was set back on the table quickly as a string of curses escaped Ron. He pulled himself back onto the bed and pulled Harry's body across his lap, holding him the same way he had over Christmas, when he'd cried himself to sleep. His pulse was even slower, and his breath barely coming at all.

"Oh God, Harry... I don't understand..."

Only a few moments later, footsteps came pounding up the stairs and Madam Pomfrey burst into the room with Seamus on her heels. "Am I too late?" she demanded. "What's happened?"

"He's tried to kill himself," Ron moaned, unable to choke back a sob. "The vials - on the floor, they smell like the potion, Hipnis, the one he's not supposed to take!"

"Hyupnos," she corrected offhandedly. "I might be too late." She conjured a stretcher and levitated Harry from Ron's arms. "Stay here, both of you. I'll send someone for you when I know more."

And then she was gone, along with Harry's motionless body. Ron choked back another moan, burying his face in his hands. Seamus came over and sat beside him, staring down at his hands. "He tried to do it...? How do you reckon...?"

Ron grabbed the note from the table and thrust it into Seamus' hands. "Suicide note," he mumbled, sniffing loudly. "Why does he want to die? I don't understand, Seamus!" He pulled his knees up to his chest and curled up as small as possible, staring in agony toward the door.

Seamus shook his head and set the note aside. "I don't understand either, Ron. Maybe... maybe it's just too much."

One Last Refrain

"You need to be sure to get the hand movements right on this spell," Minerva was explaining to the class of fifth year Gryffindors, "or you'll end up with a purple owl instead of a proper brown one. Animate to animate Transfigurations are the hardest type to learn, beside human Transfiguration and, of course, the Animagus transfiguration. If everyone has a birdcage with a single dove? Yes? Well, then begin." She moved to the closest desk - Neville Longbottom's - and crouched a bit to watch him attempt to change the dove to a small brown owl. "Mr. Longbottom, that's quite close, but you're making the movements too slowly. Practice them a few times yet before trying it on the dove?"

Before Longbottom could respond, the classroom door went flying open and Severus Snape stalked through, cloak billowing and face schooled into a scowl. It took all of Minerva's self-control not to roll her eyes at the sight - Severus tried with all his might to frighten the students into submission, but it seldom worked, especially with her Gryffindors. Well, except for Longbottom, who was cowering down into his seat. "Yes, Severus? What is it?" she snapped, moving toward the door. "I'm rather busy, if you haven't noticed -"

"It's Potter," Severus snarled. The students stiffened in their seats and started casting glances in Ms. Granger's direction. The girl looked quite concerned and leaned forward to try to catch the conversation. "The Headmaster has sent for both of us. We're to go to the Hospital Wing, immediately."

Potter? Had something gone wrong with his withdrawal treatments? Or had something happened with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named? "What is it?" she asked simply, taking steps toward the door and sticking her wand into the holster at her side. "Is he alright?"

Severus' gaze flickered across the students hesitantly. "I'm sure he's fine," he finally answered - but his hesitation had given everything away to Minerva. He was lying through his teeth.

"You're all dismissed," she called out quickly. "Go back to Gryffindor Tower. Please leave the birdcages on your desks." Minerva didn't bother to take a second glance back at the class before following Severus' retreat into the halls. "What's really wrong?" she asked curtly.

"He tried to commit suicide while the others were at class. I suppose he thought no one would find him until too late." Severus winced for only a moment, though a moment was enough to let Minerva see the emotion behind his sour mask. He was actually worried... and where Potter was concerned, Severus Snape didn't often let his true emotion surface.

Minerva covered her dropped jaw with a hand, though the difficulty of keeping up with Severus' long strides kept her from sinking into shock. "Oh, Merlin... what did he do to himself?"

Another wince from Severus. The situation must be dire indeed. "Albus said he overdosed on Hyupnos Draught. I suppose he'd hidden some away for an emergency..." He drew a vial from his pocket. "This is just a common system-purging potion. Hopefully it will be enough to counteract the Hyupnos. He'd nearly stopped breathing by the time Ronald Weasley came across him."

And what if it didn't work? Minerva hadn't been looking forward to caring for Harry - she was 73, far too old to be in the business of mothering - but she _had_ grown fond of the boy over the years he'd spent in her House and classroom. The mirror image of his father, yet with a mischievous streak the size of Sirius Black's and humility greater than Remus Lupin's. She'd not considered him fragile until the seizures had begun, but despite them, Harry had remained strong. So what could've pushed him to such extremes?

"He spoke to Draco before Potions," Severus murmured. "He had another vision. Maybe... maybe he saw something so painful...?"

Dozens of scenarios flashed through Minerva's mind. "Perhaps his family was killed? No, they were never kind to him, the great big Muggles. Or... oh, no... Harry's always thought of the Weasleys as family; could something have happened to Arthur and Molly?" The thought made her sick. Molly and Arthur's graduating class had been the first she'd taught as a professor. They'd been deeply in love, even in their final year of Hogwarts, much as James and Lily had been in later years, and Frank and Margaret Longbottom and a very few other Gryffindors who went on to happiness. She'd hoped the same for Harry... but was it too late?

"We can't know. Albus will tell us," Severus responded. That was always his response in a crisis - listen to Albus, Albus will know. If only she were 35 again and idealistic even in the guise of the cynic which Severus put forth - accepting would be so much easier... because even Albus Dumbledore wasn't infallible.

Severus pushed open the door to the infirmary and rushed through, potion held out in his hand. "Madam Pomfrey! The potion. Is the boy breathing?"

She let him run off to work to save the dying child and turned instead to seek the Headmaster. As she'd expected, he perched on the edge of a bed only a few down from Harry. Unexpected, however, was the expression of regret frozen upon a face usually seen with only a smile. Minerva took a seat beside him silently and waited for him to offer a reason for what had happened. "Albus?" she whispered gently.

"Oh, Minerva... I've made a terrible mistake..." The elderly man slipped off his glasses and rubbed at the deep bags beneath his eyes, which grew more pronounced by the year. "He had a vision. Several over the past few days, which he had not yet told me. The Zabinis are dead, and Sarasvati Patil, and the Changs died over a simple piece of paper, this morning - a paper they were not even given for safekeeping... so many lives, Minerva..."

With a comforting smile, she lifted a gnarled hand to her lap and patted it lightly. "He told you all of this? And what happened then?"

"I went to contact Arthur... Percy's managed to make a few trusted contacts among the Aurors. I asked them to find out for me if any of the bodies had been recovered. And when I came back... Minerva, I left the book on my desk, and of course he was reading it - he had every right to read it!" He broke off, rubbing at his eyes again.

"What book?" His inability to keep on topic frightened Minerva just as much as the thought of losing the Boy Who Lived. If Albus Dumbledore was affected so by just a mistake... what did it mean for everyone else?

He turned and watched Poppy and Severus hurrying about, and Harry's inert form; black hair a stark contrast to his pale face and the white sheets tucked around him. "The genealogy of the Potters. I left it on my desk, thinking that Harry wouldn't be visiting for a while at least. He picked it up and read several of the entries. I don't know how many... but certainly the one on Ulysses. Minerva, he knew that I'd killed Ulysses. He was my own cousin... how must it look to a boy of fifteen? He grew angry. I tried to calm him; tried to assure him that he wouldn't be judged by his forefathers.... but he just ran off. I thought he needed time to calm down, and did not follow."

"I would likely have done the same," Minerva sighed. She'd taught Henry Potter, Jr., the most famous traitor to the Gryffindor name, and Harry's uncle. With Henry, she'd somehow known that he'd end badly - there was a gut instinct that something within him had been tarnished by the reputation of his line long before he'd sat beneath the Sorting Hat. Harry, on the other hand, couldn't be more different.

"I'd forgotten," Dumbledore was saying, "exactly whom I dealt with. As much as it hurts me to remember it... Harry is not James, and Harry is not Henry. Henry had me as he grew, and James had Henry and Mercy. But Harry... the only parents Harry knew were Lily's sister and her husband. They mistreated him. He never learned love. He only learned hate... but he had the dream of his parents to hold onto. The illusion of a perfect family... an illusion I was too foolish to remedy before it became a foundation for him. How must it have felt for him to suddenly discover that his father's family has bred wizards as Dark as Voldemort? Oh, Minerva, I've made such a mistake with him..."

No, Albus Dumbledore was certainly not infallible. They turned and watched the scene play out in silence, until Severus collapsed into a chair and Poppy approached from across the room. "I don't know," she said simply. "We've done all we can... but if he hasn't the will to stay with us, we can't bring him back."

Albus rose slowly and nodded. "I know you and Severus have done your utmost to save him. Please excuse me... I've someone to call..."

Minerva didn't watch him leave. Instead, she crossed the room and took up a seat by Harry's side. The boy might not think of her as a caring guardian, but it could be the duty handed to her, should he survive the ordeal. She had a duty to him, and to his deceased but much loved parents, and to her own bloodline... but above all, she was worried.

One Song

Remus always felt stretched to the limits after a full moon - especially on a day he was still required to work. None of the Muggle children he taught had bothered to look for any sort of pattern within his brief illnesses, and they wouldn't have made a connection to the moon even if they'd bothered. What made the day even more horrible were the held-over fears about Harry's recovery. He'd gone through the symptoms of withdrawal, though the substance involved was one much more ordinary yet just as dangerous as the dream-blocking potion. After losing James, Lily, Sirius, Peter, and Harry in a single night and day, the werewolf had gone to many terrible extremes in the hopes of forgetting his pain. None had eased it, and several had been nearly impossible to recover from. They were places Remus never wanted to visit again.

"Professor? Here's my exam," a voice said, snapping him out of his reverie. Elaine Roberts gave a bashful smile and set the paper on the table before him, then scurried off to the back of the classroom.

She had been the first to finish. With a sigh, he pushed aside memory and pulled the exam over to start grading. Elaine was a good student - much like Percy Weasley and Hermione Granger had been at Hogwarts, in the short year he'd had the privilege of teaching there.

He was only a few marks in before the door swung open and Marguerite poked her head in. "Re, dear?" she whispered, glancing over at the rows of test-taking pupils, "you've a phone call. It's Albus... he says your nephew is in a spot of trouble."

Remus didn't care what the students thought - he was out of his seat and across the room before she finished. "Is Harry alright?" he demanded. "Did he say what happened?"

Marguerite gave a significant look in the direction of the students before dragging Remus to the phone on his desk. She offered up the receiver and made a show of pressing the right line. "Talk to him. I'll stay." She turned to the students, who were staring in interest at the proceedings. "Go on, finish your exams."

"Albus, it's me," Remus muttered. He was rather surprised to learn that Albus Dumbledore, famous and rather old wizard, knew how to use a Muggle telephone. It was no doubt a rather recent invention for someone of his great age.

"Oh, Remus, good," came the reply, crackling with static. "Blasted telephone... I really should get a new model. I purchased this one in the spring of '45 and charmed it myself to work at the school -"

Normally, Remus would never interrupt the important old man, but under the circumstances, he wasn't willing to wade through the small talk to the Headmaster's message. "Please, Albus, what's happened to Harry?"

There was a long pause, and Remus wondered for a moment if the ancient phone had finally crumbled to pieces. But finally, Dumbledore answered. "I made the mistake of leaving the genealogy on my desk. Harry read it. He knows... he went back to the Tower and took several doses of Hyupnos, which he'd hidden in his trunk. Poppy doesn't know if he has the will to remain with us."

The receiver was shaking in Remus' hand, and he found Marguerite kneeling by his side and offering silent reassurances. He wasn't sure what emotion his face reflected at the moment, but it was certainly one the students hadn't seen on him before. "I'll be there immediately," Remus whispered before hanging up and setting the phone aside.

"What is it?" Marguerite asked quietly.

"Harry... he overdosed on his medication... I don't know if he did it on purpose. He might not make it." Remus choked on the words and found Marguerite tugging him to his feet.

"A train leaves at two for Edinburgh, I think," she murmured. "I'll cover your classes. Go to him, Re."

Remus nodded quickly and snatched up his case, slipping through the door. In this case, a train wasn't necessary - only a dark alley. Remus wasn't a wizard for nothing.

A blink and a run through Hogsmeade later, Remus was dashing through the corridors of Hogwarts on his way to the infirmary. Those he'd taught sent fearful glances and those who were too young to remember his time there would certainly be told of his lycanthropy within days. His visits to see Harry over the past year had always been conducted quietly, so as to not upset the students who had grown up fearing werewolves. With Harry in danger, however, Remus frankly didn't care what the pureblooded children thought.

Before Remus made it to the Hospital Wing, however, three students intercepted him. "Professor Lupin!" squeaked Seamus Finnigan, staring wide-eyed as Ron Weasley grabbed hold of Remus' sleeve and Hermione Granger wrung her hands in agitation. "What are you doing here?"

"Seamus, he was Harry's dad's friend," Hermione explained quickly. "Oh, Professor... Did Professor Dumbledore tell you what he did? I just don't understand, he seemed fine this morning -"

"No he didn't," Ron corrected gruffly, a dark flash of anger across his eyes. He shoved a crumpled piece of parchment into Remus' hand. "That's for you. It was on Harry's table. He didn't write to us." The last was strained, as if the boy was holding back tears. Hermione grabbed his shoulder in comfort, but he shrugged away, looking at his feet.

Remus smoothed out the parchment and stared down at the short note in horror. "Then he really did... on purpose..." He winced and gave a jerk of surprise as Ron's hand patted his shoulder in clumsy consolation.

"Yeah. He did... Me and Seamus found him about an hour ago. Can we go see him, too?" Poppy Pomfrey probably wouldn't allow it, Remus realized, but the anguish present in Ron's face was just too much for Remus to say no to.

"I don't know if you'll be allowed in, but I'll try to convince Madam Pomfrey. I've got to hurry now... just in case..." He couldn't finish the sentence. Instead, he clapped a hand on Ron's shoulder and steered the boy in the direction of the infirmary, not really noticing whether Hermione and Seamus followed. The note was still clutched in his fist.

"Remus, thank goodness you've arrived," Minerva greeted him as he pushed open the infirmary door. She was seated beside Harry's still form, fingers entwined with his limp hand. His face was deathly pale and without the colour of health it became obvious just how skinny he was and how ill he'd actually become - though some of the fault of that had been the potion meant to save him, it seemed.

He left Ron, Hermione, and Seamus to hover around the door and crossed to the bed immediately, snagging a chair and pulling it to Harry's other side. Grabbing Harry's other hand, he choked back a sob of despair - his skin was cold. "Is he...?"

Minerva shook her head. "He's hanging on, but barely. The temperature of his skin is a side effect of Severus' restorative."

Remus nodded shortly and turned his attention back to Harry, reaching to tenderly brush aside a stray lock of hair from the boy's forehead. "Where's Albus? How did he let this happen?"

"Remus..." Minerva sighed and leaned back in her chair, setting Harry's hand back on the bed with a light pat. "Albus made a mistake, in not telling Harry of his family earlier. He's been quite sheltered, away from the wizarding world. There was almost no way of his history coming to light, and Albus hoped Harry could mature more before it became necessary to tell him the truth. He was wrong."

"But why does it matter so much?" he found himself demanding. His family didn't have secrets and Darkness as the Potters did. Sirius' family had a Death Eater cousin, but nothing so black as Harry's forefathers... "His father and grandfather were Light. Isn't it enough that they overcame it?"

He glanced up in time to see Minerva purse her lips in a frown. "For many, that would be enough. However... Harry never knew his father or grandfather. He only has the few stories we've told him. And, as one of You-Know-Who's most visible adversaries... a connection to Darkness, even within his own mind, could be dangerous. Albus tells me that the Sorting Hat wished to place Harry in Slytherin, but he utterly refused."

"And that means he's Dark? Lord above, Minerva, by that reckoning, I should be spouting off Unforgivables myself! The Hat placed him in Gryffindor, but not all Slytherins go Dark! That's ridiculous!"

She gave a snort. "Of course it's ridiculous. However, Harry's world is still a great deal more black and white than ours. He sees good and evil. We see only gray." Minerva leaned forward, elbows on her knees, and gave another sigh. "He likely felt betrayed. Everyone's kept this from him... even those he trusted the most."

Remus nodded slowly. Realizing the note was still clenched in his fist, he dropped it on the bed before Minerva. "He told me he was sorry."

Minerva didn't pick it up. Instead, her chin quivered and she looked to be on the verge of tears. She patted Remus' shoulder lightly. "He really loves you, Remus. I hope you're given the chance to care for him properly."

He looked down at the prone form of the child lying on the stark white hospital bed and squeezed his hand firmly. Though he wished desperately for it, there was no squeeze back. "I hope so too," he whispered.


	19. No Other Way

  
**Author notes:** Repeat after me: I can beat the GREs. I can beat the GREs. I can get a good enough score to be accepted to a graduate school. I can relearn math and expand my vocabulary in a month. Riiight.

I'm uploading two chapters today. Because I can, and because you're such wonderful people.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter Eighteen - No Other Way

Harry wasn't in his bed. He wasn't quite sure where he was, for a moment, until the familiar feel of the bed beneath him jogged his memory. He was in the Hospital Wing. Perhaps he should just set up shop there - he seemed to spend enough time sleeping there, anyways.

But what had put him there this time? He couldn't remember. Not Quidditch, certainly - the match wasn't until the weekend to come. Potions? Yes, he'd had Potions Class after breakfast. But he hadn't gone, had he... he'd gone to see Dumbledore after a vision...

And it all flashed back. The discovery of his family's roots, Dumbledore's betrayal of trust, the beginning of another vision, and the vial of Hyupnos Draught... no, two vials. Remus had said that an overdose could kill.

Harry opened his eyes. Unless one woke in the afterlife in some sort of celestial infirmary, he was still alive. Morning sunlight was streaming through the high windows of the long, vaulted room. It was nearly empty, though someone was asleep on the bed nearest Harry, and Remus was slumped in a chair next to him, with a firm grip on Harry's hand even in sleep.

Waves of guilt washed over him. He'd dragged Remus from his job. Remus would be so disappointed in him... Why had he done it? He didn't _really_ want to die... but it had seemed so easy, to just take the potion and never have to watch another parent die at Voldemort's wandpoint or another innocent be tortured; so easy to leave behind the pain and the confusion and the betrayal and the...

Harry let out a moan, snatching his hand from Remus and turning onto his side to sob. Hermione would be so angry and Ron would be hurt - and who had found him? - and Professor McGonagall would take more points from Gryffindor for acting so cowardly and trying to take the simple way out of it. But if he was going to die anyways, why prolong the suffering? The two impulses warred within him and he shivered under the blankets. The symptoms of withdrawal from the potion had returned even while he cried - his body shook of its own accord, his head ached in fever and his stomach churned.

A hand set lightly on his shoulder brought him out of his thoughts. "Harry...? Oh, God, Harry... I thought you weren't going to make it..." It was Remus. The werewolf moved from the chair to the edge of the bed and pulled Harry up into his arms in a tight embrace. "Please, don't ever so much as think about doing something like that again! Harry, I was so worried!"

"I'm sorry," Harry choked, burying his face in Remus' suit-coat. "I'm sorry, Uncle Re, I'm sorry, I just picked it up and drank it and I wasn't thinking. I just wanted it to stop!" Another sob broke through.

"We'll make it stop," Remus whispered. "We'll find a way. There's no other way. I can't lose you, Harry." Remus rubbed his back soothingly and, just for a moment, Harry let himself imagine that it was his dad hugging him like that. No one else ever had.

Another voice broke from the bed beside him. "I'm glad you're alright, Harry." He glanced over and found Professor McGonagall perched on the edge of her own bed, hair mussed from sleep. Had she spent the night watching over him as well? "We were very worried about you."

"I'm sorry," he moaned, cringing against Remus. She was sure to take points... he'd been so stupid... "I made a mistake, Professor, I don't really want to die, I just wanted to make the visions stop for a while, and I was scared, and the potion was right there -"

Remus squeezed him more tightly. "It's okay. You're going to be alright. Just please, before you do anything, think about it."

"Professor Dumbledore made a mistake, too," McGonagall murmured. She scooted from the edge of her bed onto Harry's and patted his shoulder comfortingly.

"He wasn't supposed to let me read the book, was he," Harry stated. "I was too stupid to figure out that the green names on the chart were Slytherins, and no one was supposed to tell me it, because then I might turn out like all of them." He knew he sounded bitter over it - but it was a secret that had been kept from him for years!

The professor shook her head. "No... his mistake, Harry, was keeping the secret from you in the first place. He was afraid that you'd think exactly what you are... that because your family was on the wrong side of magic for so long that it was somehow a part of you. But Harry, it's not true. You are your own person, just as your father and your grandfather. They chose the Light, even if your uncles made a different choice. That choice is also yours, and no one else can make it."

"So I chose the Light. What does it matter?" The pain sweeping through his joints and clenching in his stomach caused Harry to be much more forward in his misery than he'd normally be, especially where his Head of House was involved. "I'm dying anyways, why not let the stupid potion make it less painful?"

Remus let out a moan - or maybe it was a gasp of disbelief - as McGonagall folded her hands across her lap and frowned sternly. She was silent for a long moment before taking breath to speak. "That's absolutely ridiculous, Harry. Wherever did you get that idea?"

Harry would've laughed, had the pain not been so overwhelming. "You yourself heard the news from Madame Pomfrey! Before the Christmas hols! How can you sit there and pretend I was deaf enough not to hear?"

"And what exactly did you hear?" she demanded, lips thinning in such displeasure that they nearly disappeared from her face.

"Madame Pomfrey said I was dying. You didn't believe her. She listed off a bunch of symptoms and said that if I was really connected to Voldemort, then the connection would end up killing me. And she said it was coming much sooner than she'd thought. You remember it, don't you?" Harry scooted away from McGonagall, trying to ignore the expression of horror frozen on Remus' face. "You can't deny it."

"I don't deny hearing it," she replied, frowning even more deeply. "I do deny believing a word of it. Were the connection what Madame Pomfrey believed it to be, You-Know-Who would be having the same symptoms and degrading at a similar pace. Our spies suggest nothing of the sort is happening - and that suggests you're a natural Seer, rather than triggered by the blood sacrifice. Though that probably attuned your senses to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. When You-Know-Who is dead -"

Harry gave a snort. "All well and good that you're staying optimistic, but if being a Seer means I have to live with dreams like the ones I've been having for the rest of my life, I'd rather live with the Dursleys."

Remus winced. "Harry... there's not a thing we can do about it..."

"So five years down the road I'll be wasting away up in the North Tower, convincing students I'm a batty old fraud? If that's what a Seer is, I don't want any part of it!" Harry snapped.

"Harry!" McGonagall gasped, eyes widening in shock, "How dare you address your professors like that! I understand you're not feeling well, but I can still take points!"

And then it hit him. He wasn't thinking about dying anymore. He frowned. "If Madame Pomfrey was wrong, and I'm not dying... why do I look like the dead raised?"

"The potion," Remus answered. "You were warned not to overdose on it. When did you really start to go downhill...? October and November, after you'd had plenty of doses. It's not meant to be a long term solution, Harry."

"And my nightmares are?" He crossed his arms over his chest and glared, channeling all his pain into it.

"Harold James Potter, I'm sick of this," McGonagall snapped. "I know I can't imagine how horrible the visions must be for you, but I do know that the only thing killing you is your own want for death. You are not taking the potion again. You will not be allowed run of the school by yourself until you've proven that you can be trusted. At all times, you will be accompanied by another member of Gryffindor House or a professor. Is that clear?" She leaned forward and snagged Harry's sleeve, giving a jerk until he met her eyes. "Is that clear, Harry?"

He scowled and looked away. "Yes, Professor."

Remus immediately tried to soften the blow. "I'm sure it won't be for that long. And you're usually around with Ron and Hermione, aren't you? Once you're all better, you'll be off playing Quidditch and making your House proud, right?" He offered a sickly grin.

"Wait, Quidditch - what day is it? The match against Slytherin is on Saturday, and even if Malfoy's not Seeker anymore, we still can't let them win! I have to be on my broom Saturday, no matter what happens -"

McGonagall halted his lurch forward with a firm hand and a shake of the head. "It's Wednesday, and you're not playing."

The breath caught in Harry's throat. "I'm not... what? Professor, this is the Slytherin game we're talking about! I know their new Seeker's not nearly so good as Malfoy was, but Marius Blair's nothing to scoff at. In the Hufflepuff match -"

"Harry," she broke in, leaning over to catch his eye, "this isn't part of your punishment. If you were to go play Quidditch on Saturday, it could result in serious injury."

"Nothing Madame Pomfrey couldn't fix. I've fallen off my broom half a dozen times, Professor! What is there that keeps me from playing?" Harry crossed his arms, ignoring every pain in his body, trying to prove his good health.

McGonagall merely sighed and lifted Harry's hand into her own. "They shake," she said simply; and it was the terrible truth. If his essays had been illegible at the beginning of the week, Harry would've been spilling his ink before he'd had a chance to start at midweek. "If your hands are shaking like this during the game," the professor added hesitantly, "do you think you'd have a chance at catching the snitch? At least resigning for the moment will let us bring out our reserve. Dennis matches Blair, at the very least."

He snatched his hand back, nearly choking over the words. "You want me... to resign...?"

"Only until you're better," Remus was quick to break in. "Not permanently, Harry, I promise. You'll have to take some medications to help you get over your addiction. And you have to promise never to go near the potion again - magical drugs aren't like Muggle drugs. If you're dosed with Hyupnos again, you'll have to go through rehab again."

"Yes, Uncle Re." And Remus smiled and started excitedly telling about something Marguerite had told him and about how worried he'd been, and started telling a story about Fizzing Whizbees and Harry's father that caused McGonagall to gasp loudly and glare at the werewolf. Harry was only half listening, however. Flickering through his mind was a list of every Quidditch match he'd flown in; every time he'd flown, from the very first lesson with Madame Hooch and his miraculous capture of Neville's remembrall to the early-morning practices with Oliver Wood to his dive for the Snitch in the Hufflepuff match at the beginning of the year. So much of his life at Hogwarts revolved around Quidditch... what was there left for him to do?

+

Hermione slammed a stack of books in front of Harry that easily would've dwarfed Ron's lanky height, had he been in the library. "Now, I know you can't take notes, but Professor McGonagall said I should make sure you're alright while Ron's off at his detention. I still can't believe he set off that dungbomb outside of Professor Snape's office. He certainly deserved what he got.

Harry didn't think he did, but Harry also wasn't a prefect. And, had he not been laid up in the Infirmary, he'd have been helping with the dungbomb, too. "I thought you weren't finding anything," he replied, trying to keep the groan of boredom from escaping his lips.

"I said I was going slowly and had a few leads," Hermione said, grabbing several thick notebooks from her pack. "There we are. Those books in front of you are on and about the Founders as Headmasters of Hogwarts. Anything about Rowena Ravenclaw or Salazar Slytherin would be helpful. I know the rumors about their affair were just that - rumors - but the key to solving all of this could very easily be in one of those tomes."

"What if it wasn't a rumor?" Harry flipped open the first book, quickly hiding his hands back beneath the table - hiding the tremours. "And how am I supposed to know what I'm looking for?"

Hermione frowned and slammed another stack on the table. "Of course it was a rumor, Rowena Ravenclaw married one of the grandsons of one of King Arthur's knights. Everyone knows that."

Harry gave a snort. "Doesn't mean it didn't happen."

"Harry!" Hermione gasped, "you don't think -"

"They might be the Founders of the school... but they're still human," Harry snapped. He sent a glare at the book opened in front of him. "For all we know, her descendants are actually Slytherin's too. Don't they say all myths have a kernal of truth? Anyhow, what exactly am I looking for?"

She gave a frown, but restrained any response on the first comment, choosing to get to work instead. Hermione tossed a pack of Magik-Marks (remember your page without ruining the book) over to him. "Every mention of Ravenclaw or Slytherin I want you to mark with a little flag. I'll go back through later and see if there's anything useful. Just find all the references."

Great. There were half a dozen tomes, each thicker than any of his textbooks. "Hermione, this is so much..." he whined, "and I'm tired and have a headache..."

Hermione wavered. For a moment, Harry thought he might have a chance to spend the afternoon sitting alone. However, something stayed her hand. "No. It's not that much, and you only have to skim them for the names. You're not to be alone, Professor McGonagall said, and Professor Lupin agreed with her."

"He's not our professor anymore," Harry grumbled distractedly, and gave up the fight, opening the closest book to a random page. "Hermione, this book is a load of rubbish." He poked at it. "Says it was Hufflepuff's idea to form the school, and I'm sure Binns said it was Ravenclaw's. And there's all this tripe about arguments over names..."

"Alright, so that one's not worth your time. Toss it and go on to the next. I just have a feeling that I'm getting close! I'm just missing one vital clue..." Hermione sighed and flipped through a book at random. "Oh, look, a map... that's interesting, it has some of the plans from before the great fire..."

A memory flashed to the fore, of Voldemort in a vision, from just before he'd overdosed. A map. Voldemort wanted a map of Hogwarts. "Hermione..." Harry whispered, "I think Voldemort is one step ahead of us on this... I think he's found a way to get in to the school."

Hermione dropped her quill in shock. "He... no, that's silly. Did he... did he say that? Did you See it?"

Harry nodded slowly. "He sent someone to find a map of an old building in Scotland. Where else could he mean? If he's got the map already, he could show up at any moment."

"But I'm sure Professor Dumbledore knows all the entrances to the school by now," Hermione rationalized. "Unless he knows of a passage that even your father's friends hadn't heard of, You-Know-Who hasn't a chance of making it inside."

He shrugged non-commitally. "He might be old, but Dumbledore certainly isn't omnipotent. He only manages to seem that way." Harry glanced down at his shaking hands in embarrassment. While it was his fault, Dumbledore could take plenty of the blame on himself. After all, the Headmaster had been the one concealing the family secret. When Hermione only frowned slightly, Harry pushed aside the first book and moved onto another. "_The Chronicles of Founding_. Yes, this looks to be just bloody fascinating reading."

"Oh, quit your whinging," Hermione snapped, glowering. "It's just Quidditch. Missing a game won't kill you."

"The Slytherin game," Harry pointed out. "With Malfoy off the team, it would be easier than facing Hufflepuff. Dennis isn't half bad, but this will be his first Quidditch game with spectators. He's completely unused to it!"

She gave a snort. "As were you." Hermione flipped through a few more pages. "Oh, how fascinating! Not only did the Founders handpick the original students, they also each built a tower to house their Houses! And the Founders lived among the pupils, so teaching went on all the time, instead of just during the day!"

"Classes all night? Ugh! I can't imagine Professor McGonagall sleeping up in the Tower... or Snape, down in the dungeons? Well, that's not so far off." Harry read a few lines before something else occurred to him. "Wait... they each built a tower?"

Hermione nodded. "Of course! Slytherin's was destroyed in the fire of 1106, which also destroyed a good portion of the western wing of the school. The students relocated to the dungeons, and never moved back out."

Harry nodded and went back to _The Chronicles of Founding_. It seemed to be about as helpful as the other book, unfortunately. "It's just gossip about Helga Hufflepuff's suitors - hmph, apparently Slytherin was one for a bit - and Godric Gryffindor's illegitimate son... the bloke's name was Octavian, poor guy..." He was almost ready to move on to the next book when Hermione's head popped up from behind her book, face painted with epiphany. "Slytherin's Tower... and Ravenclaw's Tower... oh, Harry, that's it!"

"What's it?"

Hermione frowned and chewed on her bottom lip nervously. "But that's just it... it's only a theory... if I'm wrong, it would mean such a bother for no reason..."

"What's it, Hermione?" Harry demanded, frowning back. "You really aren't making any sense."

She glanced over to the door, then back at Harry, face a picture of hesitation. "I have a book back in Gryffindor Tower that I need to find, to see if I'm right. I'm not supposed to leave you alone, though."

Harry scowled and shoved his books across the table. "I'm not going anywhere. I don't want to go back to the Tower, Fred and George are having a Quidditch strategy meeting in the Common Room."

"You are too coming, Harry! I'm going to do exactly as Professor McGonagall and Professor Lupin said. You _are_ going to be living with Professor McGonagall this summer, after all. I don't want to make her angry where you're concerned, and you shouldn't either -"

"I'm going to live with Uncle Re," Harry snapped, planting his hands on the table (it kept them from visibly shaking) and half-rising from his seat. "Percy said the bill will pass. I'm going to live in a flat in Maida Vale. I am _not_ going to spend the rest of my childhood with Professor McGonagall."

Hermione's face had turned an ashen white and she sunk into her seat. The expression of sheer terror could mean nothing good. For just a moment, Harry wondered if he'd found himself in some sort of bad comedy show - from the look on her face, he was positive that either McGonagall or Lord Voldemort himself was standing just out of view. He almost wished for Voldemort.

"As glad as I am to know your perspective on the matter, Harry, very little about the situation can be changed. It's either me or summer with Professor Snape," Professor McGonagall said, voice tight in anger.

Harry turned around slowly to come face to face with the woman. It seemed quite odd, but he'd finally outgrown her. The witch's hat added a good few centimetres of height, but they were no longer eye to eye. "I didn't mean it that way, Professor," he began hurriedly, trying desperately to pick up the pieces. "It just seems so odd, living with one of my professors, especially my own Head of House... and when the bill passes, you won't have to put up with me, because I know Uncle Re will be glad to take me on -"

The anger melted suddenly and McGonagall stared forlornly down at a newspaper clutched in her hands, that Harry had only just noticed. "The bill won't pass," she mumbled, shoving the paper in Harry's direction.

Though floored with surprise, Harry took it and skimmed the headlining article.

"What is it?" Hermione asked softly. "What's happened?"

"A little girl," Harry choked. "A werewolf in Brixton... the girl's mum wasn't watching, and the wolf attacked..."

Hermione gasped softly. "Then... she's dead...?"

"No," Harry whispered, "she's a werewolf. The man who bit her will likely be executed for the crime... because he's not a being, he's a beast..."

Hermione stood and rounded the table, pulling Harry into a hug. Now he'd never have the family he wanted... he'd only have a grouchy old teacher. But then, what had changed? Nothing.

+

"You forgot a jumper at my flat," Remus said quietly, pulling Harry aside before he could enter the Great Hall for lunch.

"What are you doing here, Uncle Re?" Harry asked, surprised. Remus should've been teaching, or on lunch break at the very least.

Remus presented Harry with the green jumper that Mrs. Weasley had knitted for him for Christmas. "I'm on lunch. I thought I should come up and talk to you today... with the story in the paper and all..."

Harry sighed and nodded slowly, following his old teacher down to an empty classroom. "This means what I think it means, right? That I won't be living in Maida Vale this summer."

"I'm afraid that will probably be the case," Remus admitted. "The bill goes up for a vote tomorrow. I doubt that even a miracle can pass it this year. Maybe in a few years, someone will propose it again... Things don't change very often in the wizarding world, Harry. Wizards don't like change. But, it'll be passed someday."

"Someday, maybe, but it'll be of no help to me," Harry snapped, hugging the jumper to his chest. Remus looked hurt, but Harry's heart was aching so much that he barely made notice. It was time to make a clean break, or be hurt once more by promises. "I have to go to class." A lie.

He turned and hurried away, Remus' calls echoing after him. There had been enough hurt, and Harry couldn't stand any more empty promises. 


	20. No Day But Today

  
**Author notes:** And here's the end of part three. Look for this to be posted in its entirety before Book Five makes its appearance! G'day!

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Chapter Nineteen – No Day But Today

"I don't want to attend the game," Harry snapped. He pulled the duvet over his head and stuffed his face into the pillow.

The curtains on the four-poster were thrown open and one of the Weasleys – without his glasses, they all appeared to be identical flashes of orangey-red hair – yanked the covers from over his head. "Maybe you're not playing today, but you're only on hiatus. Team loyalty, mate!" It was one of the twins.

The other chimed in from behind him without a beat of silence. "And Dennis needs you there! You know how he and Colin idolize you. If you're there cheering him on, Dennis will play all the better – just to impress you."

Harry groaned and snatched his glasses from the table. It was true, unfortunately enough. Dennis had appeared in the Common Room just after Remus' bad news a day earlier asking Harry's permission – begging, actually – to take his place for the game. He'd said yes, of course. Everything came back into view behind the thick lenses. Fred (recognizable only because of his Weasley jumper) hopped onto the bed with a false pout on his face. "Please?" he whined, "this is our last game with Slytherin... you'll be better for the Ravenclaw game, Madame Pomfrey says, but we can kick their arses any day... we need Dennis' best for Slytherin..."

"Fine. I'll sit there and look pathetic while doing homework with Hermione," he quipped. He hoped Ron would have pity on him. Ron had been sitting with Lee Jordan for the past games, learning the ropes to take over the announcer job in the next year. He'd left Hermione sitting alone every week since.

Ron didn't take the hint. "Perfect! Hermione doesn't like Quidditch anyways, she'll take your mind off it!" Ron grabbed Harry's shoulder and yanked him upright. "C'mon, mate, get dressed! We've got to get to the Pitch. We'll get Hermione to wait for you!" And they were gone before Harry could object again.

Harry sighed and pulled himself out of bed, padding loudly to the loo to wash his face. Neville, Seamus, and Dean were already gone, probably to save seats in the Gryffindor section. He frowned at himself in the mirror. How different he looked compared to his reflection when he'd first arrived. He looked ill. His skin had gone pallid, his hair dull, and his eyes bloodshot and sunken.

He headed back into the dormitory, stripping his shirt away as he went, and caught his reflection once more. Harry's form was near skeletal. Never a rotund child, neglect had kept him from growing at a normal pace. Stress over the summer had made his ribs visible beneath skin, but sickness had hollowed everything. It would take months to return even to his former thin state. Was it his own fault he'd become emaciated? Yet another result of the terrible mistake of the potion? Or was it lack of sleep and loss of appetite over the visions of death he'd seen which created such a skeletal form?

With a low sigh, Harry chucked off his trousers and started digging through his trunk for a clean pair of clothes. A red jumper for House solidarity, a pair of black trousers (only slightly wrinkled), a plain white shirt –

"Oh, God... Harry..."

He turned bright red, snatching his jumper from the bed to cover himself as best he could. Hermione stood in the door way, staring in some sort of horror at Harry. "Sorry, sorry!" he spat out, snatching the drapery of his bed to wrap himself in. "Just another moment, I had to wash my face -"

Hermione blushed bright scarlet but crossed the room anyways. "Aren't you eating?" She reached out and lifted his arm away from his body. The drape fell away a little, but he still clutched his jumper close. "Does Madame Pomfrey know?" Her eyes were filled with concern – the blush had faded quickly, but there was no pity visible at all, only the concern.

"She knows," he muttered, looking away. His face still felt hot. Hermione was a _girl_, she wasn't supposed to be in the dormitory in the first place! If Seamus or Dean came back and saw, or if Lavender and Parvati wondered where Hermione had disappeared to –

Hermione touched Harry's face lightly and took a step back, turning away. "Go on, get dressed. We've Quidditch to watch."

Harry stood for a moment, baffled – why had she done that? – before launching himself for his clothes and yanking them on in embarrassment. The bulky jumper covered his frame and made him seem only skinny, rather than starved. "Um... sorry, I didn't know you meant to come up here..."

"Done?" She didn't wait for his response before turning around. Luckily, he was only putting on his socks and was mostly covered. "You need to eat more. If you're going to get over this, you'll need to be in top form, and Professor McGonagall told me that you'll certainly be getting over it -"

"I'm fine," Harry muttered darkly, trying to ignore the blush rising in his cheeks again. Hermione seemed to be sizing him up – it was on odd look on her face, one he really didn't want to see again, he didn't think. "We don't want to be late. Dennis might get worried."

"You aren't going for Dennis," Hermione retorted, the subject suddenly seeming to change, though the long, searching glance she sent down his frame was enough to let him know it hadn't been forgotten. "Fred and George would kill you if you skipped the match. It's Slytherin, after all. We can't be losing to them, even if Malfoy's gone. Blair's quite good – or he was in the Slytherin/Ravenclaw match, but Cho's hardly been at top form of late."

Harry blinked slowly. "Who are you, and where have you put Hermione? You _never_ talk about Quidditch."

"Do you actually think I've not learned a bit listening to the two of you bickering over teams since first year? Honestly, Harry, I'm not deaf!" Hermione crossed her arms and pouted, leaving Harry feeling more than a little uncomfortable.

"Er... right, Slytherin game," Harry murmured, making a dash for the door. Hermione followed on his heels.

In the Common Room, a few eyebrows were raised as Hermione entered via the boy's dormitory staircase, but a glower from Harry kept Matthew Eck, one of the sixth years, from commenting. Hermione, seemingly oblivious, snatched up her knapsack and a tartan travel rug from a sofa. She shoved the blanket in Harry's direction. "Here. You'll catch a chill, and I absolutely promised Professor McGonagall -"

Harry gave a loud snort to cut her off and stormed for the portrait. Professor McGonagall, in only the past day, had suddenly morphed into an overprotective guardian of the worst sort. He was afraid to see what she'd do when he was back on his broom. McGonagall adored Quidditch, but seemed to see Harry as some sort of invalid. Perhaps, for the moment, he was.

"Harry! Harry!" Hermione was calling, hurrying down the corridor after him. His feet went on automatic toward the Pitch, and he slowed only for a beat. "There's no need to sulk. It's all for your sake."

"I'm sure it is. I rather like making my own decisions, however, thank you," he responded. It wasn't cold out, he didn't need a stupid travel rug, even it if was a handsome tartan. "I don't need a mother. I've done perfectly well without one since I was a year old. I don't need Professor McGonagall to do it, and I certainly don't need you to."

It was obviously the wrong thing to say. Harry could practically see the steam emitting from Hermione's ears with her intense rage – her cheeks had gone a deep red and her eyes narrowed dangerously. Harry gulped. "For your information, Harry Potter, I am not acting as your mother. I act as someone who cares about you quite a bit. Now, then, is that enough of an answer, or are you going to go sulking about?"

"Perfectly fine answer," Harry responded hastily. Angry, Hermione became a fairly formidable person. In third year, she'd actually punched Malfoy in the face in Hogsmeade. And Harry had managed to rile her up to top form. "Can we go outside? It looks to be nice out..."

Hermione glowered but followed silently. They joined the procession of Gryffindors and Slytherins heading for their respective sides of the Pitch. Most of the Ravenclaw team was there to scope out the Gryffindors, while the Hufflepuffs were watching Slytherin to ready for their match in a few weeks. Neville, Seamus, and Dean had indeed saved seats for the pair, and Ron waved excitedly from Lee's side in the professors' stand.

A blanket suddenly draped itself across his shoulders, and Harry jerked around in shock. Professor McGonagall stood behind him, frowning. "I knew you'd show up to the game without warm enough clothes. You're ill, Harry. Until you've regained some weight, your body will lose heat very quickly -"

"I brought a blanket for him, Professor," Hermione offered, tugging on the travel rug, which Harry was using as a cushion for the wooden bleachers instead.

She gave a curt nod. "Very good, Miss Granger. It's nice to see Harry has such a good friend looking after him... Harry, I'd like to talk to you after the game, if you don't mind? There are forms that need to be signed."

Harry rather did mind, but he doubted Professor McGonagall would be appreciative if he said so. He nodded instead and sunk into his seat as the professor smiled in a motherly sort of manner and patted his shoulder before disappearing down the stairs. Seamus gave a grin from his elbow. "I almost feel sorry for you, mate... living with Professor McStickUpHerArse, there."

"Almost sorry?" Harry retorted with a snort.

"Seamus! Harry!" Hermione, of course, was outraged. "How dare you speak of one of our professors that way! Especially you, Harry, she's in essence your aunt!"

"I spoke of Aunt Marge that way. And Aunt Petunia. You haven't had a problem with that," he replied, shrugging the new blanket from his shoulders and tucking it beneath the seats.

Hermione yanked it out again and tossed it around his arms. "Professor McGonagall hasn't mistreated you. Your aunts did. Now hold still and wear the bloody blanket!"

From the corner of his eye, Harry watched as Seamus and Dean exchanged baffled looks. Hermione never swore. Harry's words must've made her exceptionally angry – even Malfoy hadn't drawn such a reaction from her. Consequently, Harry stopped arguing – though he was tempted to bring it up again as Seamus leant over and made a whip-cracking noise in his ear. He wasn't whipped! He wasn't even dating Hermione!

Harry was understandably distracted as the game started, trapped between Hermione's indignant frowns and Seamus and Dean's winks and understanding nods. Unfortunately, Slytherin took the lead in the first few moments with a lucky shot past the new Keeper, Leyton Jones. Their lead didn't last long – Katie Bell passed to Angelina Johnson, who scored past the Slytherin Keeper without a problem. Without Oliver Wood playing Keeper, the other team had begun getting more goals, though Harry was still able to catch the Snitch before anyone else. But now, without Harry on the Pitch... things might not be so easy for Gryffindor.

Playing Quidditch was much more enjoyable than watching it, especially with Hermione unwilling to talk. She muttered under her breath about the Arithmancy equations on her page, while Seamus and Dean had a running commentary going on about the state of the Slytherin stands, and Pansy Parkinson's new fling, and Seamus was trying to explain about the old wizarding families' tradition of marrying off children soon after schooling. Neither conversation seemed of much interest to Harry.

He sunk farther into his seat and peered across the stands at the Slytherins. Blaise Zabini was there, seated with a first-year and a third-year (or fourth-year? Malcolm Baddock?) apart from the others. She shouldn't have been on the Pitch at all, at least in Harry's opinion. She was certainly in danger there, though Professor Dumbledore was aware of his vision and had likely acted accordingly. He couldn't help but be worried over her fate, however, even if she was a Slytherin. She, along with Draco Malfoy, had struck a truce with him – but a truce with the enemy of Slytherin was becoming an ever-more-dangerous position to take up. Draco wouldn't even show his face on the Pitch.

Harry wondered whether that had anything to do with his classmates, however. Draco had become increasingly hard to find, especially after Potions class. According to Ron, he'd been getting into trouble with Snape, of late. It seemed ludicrous, especially since Snape's cover as a loyalist to Voldemort had been blown wide open during some unknown event over the past summer, while Harry was wasting away, locked in Dudley's second bedroom. The facts remained, though – Malfoy, Snape's favourite and ward, had been doing his best to anger his professor. Harry couldn't explain it. Neither could Ron who, due to his hate of the Slytherin, just blamed it on idiocy. Harry wasn't sure.

"And Slytherin scores again, unfortunately – that's 30-20, Slyth, the buggers – sorry, Professor – Oh, and is that the Snitch? So early? Yes! Blair's diving for it, but Creevey's ahead – Creevey, filling in for Potter, on sick leave, give us a wave -" Harry didn't. "And yes, Creevy has the Snitch! Gryffindor wins!"

It seemed anti-climactic, at best. Harry gave a sigh and launched himself from his seat, intending to make a run from the Pitch before the team could try to engulf him in their throws of celebration. It was Dennis' moment for glory now, not Harry's.

He hadn't even made it to the door before Hermione caught up, snagging his arm with a scowl. "Professor McGonagall wanted to see you, remember? I won't let you get out of that one."

"Since when are you my keeper?" Harry couldn't help but snap. She merely scowled back, holding his arm in a grip of steel.

"Since you've decided that rules don't affect the infamous Harry Potter," Hermione snapped back. "I'm sorry you can't live with Professor Lupin, but you have to be honest – did you really expect that act to be passed? Wizards have a notorious history of prejudice against non-humans. Take the house-elves, for example, they've been enslaved for centuries -"

Harry broke in, anxious to avoid a repeat of the S.P.E.W. lectures of fourth year. "And since you think I'm full of myself, you've appointed yourself my mother?"

Hermione halted mid-sentence with a glare. She turned on her heel and marched away from the rapidly-filling Entrance Hall to a slightly quieter side corridor, before trapping Harry into a corner. "That's it," she hissed softly, fists balled at her sides. "I've had enough. Can't I care what happens to you? Is it so hard to believe that I won't abandon you, even if everyone else seems to? I know it hurts – first your parents, then your aunt and uncle, then Sirius, then Professor Lupin – but Professor McGonagall won't! And I'm sure Professor Lupin will be back to visit soon, it's only been a few days since the article about the little girl -"

"He has more important things to think about than me," Harry choked out. How did Hermione know his own mind better than he did? Everything she'd said was true. Even though he knew his parents, and Sirius, and Uncle Re never wanted to leave and that all cared... it didn't change the end result. He felt abandoned, even by Ron, sitting over with Lee instead of with Harry and Hermione.

And before he could stop himself, he was crying again, and Hermione was hugging him. "There's nothing more important for him," she soothed, "I know it. But it's a dream that can't come true – you know it as well as I. Please, Harry, let Professor McGonagall have a chance. She cares as much as Professor Lupin, I know it."

Harry nodded slowly. She was right. It had only been a dream. Who'd ever believe that Fudge's MPs could see a werewolf as anything but a monster? It seemed that Harry was trapped. But, maybe it wouldn't be that bad. He let Hermione keep talking, even though he didn't hear the words, at let himself cry out his grief for his parents and Sirius and Uncle Re. It was about time for him to grieve for his dreams.

+

"Harry, are you alright?" He kept his head down and slunk into the office, trying to hide his red face. Hermione waited outside for his meeting to be over. No matter what McGonagall wanted to get done, Hermione would be waiting for him.

"Harry, you aren't in trouble..." The edge of a sheet of parchment appeared in his vision. "You've a form to sign. As you've reached fifteen, you have to give consent for me to be your guardian. It's a wizarding law... has to do with the old coming of age rituals and all..."

He couldn't help but sulk. "Isn't this a little soon? The act is still being debated."

"Debated, yes, but the number of nays seem to be increasing every moment. Even now, the parents of that young girl have been brought in to argue their case. The werewolf in question will probably be executed on Tuesday – there's a barrister arguing Monday, once news of the act is available. If you want to wait..." she sighed. "I know I'm not your first choice."

Harry snatched the paper from her hand. Maybe he'd made enough trouble for the professor – she wanted to help. Hermione said so. Jerkily, he scrawled out his signature, without even reading what the parchment said.

And then he sat, uncomfortably. McGonagall lightly took the parchment and added her name in a delicate hand before she, too, sat quietly. The silence stretched on, and Harry saw in his mind's eye a shade of things to come: sitting silently on a summer morning, alone and across from each other in the empty, darkened Great Hall, not looking anywhere but at a plate of food, not sharing problems and triumphs as the Weasleys were like to do. Cold.

Professor McGonagall cleared her throat and Harry shifted in his seat, dispelling the loveless image. "Well then," she began curtly, "that covers it. I reside here and in Hogsmeade for most of the year. My mother owns property with her brother on the Isle of Skye, and every-other Christmas I spend there. If you wish to remain here, I'm sure Professor Dumbledore would look after you. As Henry's namesake, I'm sure you're as much family -"

"But I'm not Henry," Harry cut in, barely louder than a whisper. He wasn't sure who the comment was meant for. More himself than McGonagall, at least he thought so – he wasn't his grandfather, he hadn't even known his grandfather's first name until seeing the terrible book that seemed to cause so many of his problems. If he were not the grandson of Henry Potter, the great-grandson of Ulysses Potter, the very teacher of Grindelwald, would Voldemort have bothered to hunt James Potter and his Muggleborn wife? It seemed Harry had finally found his reason – his orphan status, his pain at the hands of his mother's sister, his loneliness; all could be traced to Ulysses and Henry.

It was a comfort to know, almost. If it hadn't been for Henry, would Dumbledore have worked so diligently to save Harry's life? Or were relations really everything – did Harry's family mean so much in the wizarding world that his very surname, connected with the Dark and the Light alike, could influence the course of his life? The Malfoys... the Weasleys... Draco thought he had to be what his father was. Ron seemed to idolize his father; he wanted to be what his father was. Family was everywhere around him – and Harry had none. So there was the root of his problem. Ulysses, Henry, and all the Potters. Their ghosts haunted him even long after their deaths. He had plenty to live up to, if he managed to survive school.

He wasn't Henry – but Albus Dumbledore expected him to be.

"No, you aren't Henry," McGonagall finally broke in, words mirroring his thoughts. Harry was jarred awake and glanced up from the gouges in the professor's wooden desk into her ashen – almost guilt-filled – face. "I think we forget that you are not Henry and you are not James. You look so like them both... I knew Henry well, we were schoolmates. Truth be told, I was jealous of him." Her gaze drifted away, focused on a time years past, somewhere over his shoulder. "He was a model Gryffindor – brave, strong, unafraid. And innocent – Professor Dumbledore saw to that; he made your grandfather totally unaware of the evils his own father had committed. Henry saw the best in everyone – he could not see the evils committed, not even the evils of his own sons... He's tried to do the same for you Harry, though your relatives have ruined that from the start. He seems to have pushed aside remembrances of the falling out he and Henry had, years ago... it was when Henry found out about Ulysses Potter." She let out a low sigh. "I'm sorry for all of this. I truly am. Mistakes have been made again that should've been learnt from the first time around."

She fell silent and Harry's gaze dropped back to the paper on the desk. "Has Uncle Re been by since the news?" He didn't want to hear any more about his grandfather or apologies for trespasses that could not be repaired. He had his own to make, to Remus.

"He's a busy man. He's likely cementing his contacts in the Muggle world. Trials against werewolves often result in severe prejudice in our own world for some time afterward. I doubt Remus will be able to spend much time here."

Harry didn't look up, stomach clenching in despair. If Remus didn't come back... he truly had been abandoned, once again because of events completely out of his control. "May I go?" he asked softly.

McGonagall shot over a concerned look before nodding her head and glancing away. "Yes, of course. I'll just get the papers sent off. I know my mother can't wait to meet you – do you mind if she drops by sometime soon? She's given up hope of getting grandchildren from me, but she'll more than make up for your absent family, I promise."

"Yes. Sure," Harry muttered half-heartedly. If McGonagall had gone to school with his grandfather, then her mother was certainly old enough to be more than his grandmother. He ducked out of the office before she could make another request to find Hermione waiting, just as she'd promised.

She gave one glance at the look on his face – presumably harried, though he'd no way of knowing – and snagged his robe sleeve. "It couldn't have been too terrible, right?"

"No blood spilt," he shrugged. He didn't bother to yank his sleeve away, though. "I have to meet her mother soon. Can we go and do something else – even homework? Anything to take my mind off it."

Hermione nodded and pulled him off toward the Common Room. "No homework, today. A card game – that's the remedy. I have some Muggle cards my mum sent with me to school. How does that sound?"

The afternoon, spent with a good friend, and nothing expected of him but conversation. "It sounds perfect," he answered truthfully, and managed to give a wavering smile. Hermione's beam in return was enough to bring his on in full.

+

"Pass the chips, Ron?" Harry asked. He'd filled his plate with all his favourites in a silent celebration that evening, if a little melancholy, of finally having a family. True, Minerva McGonagall wouldn't be the best of parental figures, but things could be a lot worse – he could still be living with the Dursleys.

It felt almost like a day before the start of the Triwizard Tournament – before life had fallen into chaos and fear for his very life. Ron chucked over the basket of greasy and salty chips (not quite so good as those at McDonalds, but the house-elves had done their best) before plunging back into his plate, stacked high with chicken, potatoes, and a bit of everything else that graced the table. Hermione sniffed daintily at Ron's table manners and picked at her plate while Neville, Dean, Seamus, and Lavender chatted almost gaily just down the table. Parvati had gone into hiding with her sister, Padma, two days earlier.

The thought made Harry pause in his feasting to remember the lives taken. But life still went on for the rest. Hermione elbowed him in the ribs and flashed a smile, which Harry returned and went back to the mounds of food before him. If all of this terror had taught him one thing, it was that life was to be enjoyed – every moment of it.

He was about to strike up a conversation with her about their last Astronomy assignment – it was sure to rile Ron up, since he'd forgotten to finish it – when murmur began at the end of the Great Hall nearest the doors, accompanied by pounding feet. Harry looked up in alarm, expecting none less than Voldemort himself standing in the doorway, from the disturbance that had been caused among the students. But it wasn't Voldemort at all. It couldn't have been anyone better.

Remus Lupin charged down the aisle, swerving around a Ravenclaw seventh year to land neatly next to Harry. Before he could make a sound, Remus had swept him up from his seat and spun him about as if he weighed no more than a small child – and Harry, though still recovering from illness, was still muscled enough from Quidditch to have some mass. Someone was thundering down from the High Table (Professor McGonagall, likely enough, to find out what the disturbance was), but Remus had already put him back into his seat. The werewolf was grinning from ear to ear and, most disturbingly, had tears coursing down his face.

"They passed it!" he crowed, grabbing Harry by the shoulders and pulling him into a hug, nearly crushing the boy in its intensity.

"Passed what?" Harry heard Hermione asking. "Professor Lupin, what do you mean? Who passed what?"

Remus shook his head slightly and pulled back, peering Harry in the eye. "You won't believe it... I didn't believe it... Harry, it was passed. The Act, it's law..." The words didn't seem to want to sink in properly. When Harry's face was only a dull, blank mask, Remus pushed on. "I can adopt you, Harry – the Ministry's changed my status!"

Only then, when it had been stated plainly and clearly, did Harry allow himself to believe. Oblivious to Hermione's joy, Ron's shock, and McGonagall's pale smile, blending in against a hall full of confused faces, Harry leapt to his feet and charged into Remus' arms, only then letting the tears of joy fall. Into his soon-to-be _father's_ arms. All was right with the world, Voldemort be damned.


	21. How to Fly

  
**Author notes:** *yawn* Well... there, that was all happy... for now. *insane cackle* *cough* Right, then. I figured I'd wait until high school exams across the country were over to pull the rug out! Remember, we're almost done... chapter 23 is the last one, followed by the epilogue. Stay tuned!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

****

How To Fly

(Chapter Twenty)

"There, as I looked, was another horse, sickly pale; its rider's name was Death, and Hades followed close behind."

Revelation 6:8

Be There

Minerva McGonagall flipped idly through Harry's files, avoiding the commotion just through the doors she sat beside. Lupin and Harry and Albus were in the Headmaster's office, happily discussing the boy's future. She'd been invited in, of course. And she'd have to join them soon enough. As guardian for the boy, however temporary that title had been, she had forms to sign and concessions to make. For the moment, however, she sat and read over the triumphs and mistakes committed by the boy in question, put down in script on the papers and forms neatly filed away and stored in the folder sitting on her lap. Committed by the boy she'd slowly come to see as her own, since his permanent removal from the Dursleys.

She hadn't believed that the Ministry would pass the act in the first place, especially in light of the political climate of the moment. Fudge still refused to recognize Voldemort's resurrection and kept a tight fist around the press. Only two or three papers (not including the _Daily Prophet_, of course, the most popular wizarding paper) would run stories about the young men and women murdered mysteriously, just out of Hogwarts, and none would connect them to the Dark Lord. Those fighting in the name of Light were forced to work in shadow even as those staying silent beside them, those whose resistance was the only fight they could make, were picked off one by one in their youth. But despite it all – the mounting prejudice, the fear, the control, the greatest freedom of all had been granted to the two or three dozen werewolves residing in Britain, that of citizenship and beinghood.

Minerva cheered for Remus, cheered for all those afflicted by the curse. However, his triumph stole her happiness. The boy had become dear, despite attempts to separate him in her mind from perfect Henry and dependable young James and charming Lily. True, he'd be happier with Remus. And true, Remus would be able to see him as Just Harry, a status no one but his closest friends could see him as – Harry, not the grandson of Henry or great-grandson of Ulysses, not the nephew of Henry, Jr. and Julius or the Boy Who Lived; not a boy hanging over the edge of darkness or the last beacon of Light. He'd be simply Harry, a boy on the threshold of being a man, and Remus could be the father finally there to bring him through it in one piece. With Remus' help, Harry might reach and return from the battle whole and able to function in real life, where Henry had collapsed and retired to his own death.

Despite her happiness at Harry's new life and new chance at living it, something seemed torn away. Her final chance at motherhood, even a fostered one, was gone. She felt old, dried up, and fading away. Inside the room beside her, new life of a sort was being created while she, the old woman, sat by.

Her thoughts were too maudlin. Resolved at her fortunes, she packed away the papers decidedly and steeled herself away from her loss, finally pushing into the room. They were all smiles, waiting for her: Albus in his new red robes, Remus and Harry grinning at each other, sharing secret smiles of happiness.

"What do you have there, Minerva?" Albus asked, gesturing broadly at a chair close by Harry's side. "Forms and parchments?"

"Harry's records," she murmured briskly, tossing the thick folder upon the desk. "I felt it best to bring the lot. The custody forms are buried there as well." Minerva thought she was doing at least an adequate job at hiding what she felt. She sunk into the offered chair and examined her fingernails.

She then made the mistake of glancing up into Albus' eyes. He knew – of course he did, he could sense her moods better than her own husband had, in her youth. There was apology there, but also a sense of justice. He knew, as well as she, that what was being done was right. Harry deserved a father, and Remus would be better than Minerva could ever be a mother. "You've just to sign this form over here – Remus brought it when he came today – and we're all finished."

Minerva stared at the form and suddenly found herself unable to move. Right there lay the absolute and final end of the dream. Her mother would be crushed – no Christmases spent around the tree with a young man present, no holidays meeting the first love, no more visions of the Potter line continued and visiting, no grandchildren (of a sort, at least) to watch grow. Perhaps she'd wished for it too much. Maybe this was her final payment for waiting to have children with her husband until the war came and it was too late...

It seemed Albus caught her mood, and he lightly set down the parchment before her, moving to other subjects. "You do have a place other than that London flat for Harry to stay, Remus? There's not enough space in there."

From the corner of her eye, Minerva caught Harry sending over a confused glance. Remus continued on in the background, white noise to her troubled thoughts. "Well, my mother's family home is owned by my cousin. There's little love lost between us, but he might do it, even if only for the publicity – he's a musician. Lead vocal of Two Sickles and a Knut. He'd do anything for publicity."

"That could work..." Dumbledore drew back the form and made a scribble across the top. "Oh, Harry – how did you want your name to appear on the form?"

Harry's gaze darted from Minerva to the Headmaster. "My name? What about it?"

"Remus is adopting you. If you wish, you could add his name, you know. It's common practice, especially in wizarding adoptions... there were many after the war..." The last was an afterthought, quiet and seemingly unintended, but it did the trick for Minerva. She and her husband were to have adopted one of the children orphaned by He Who Must Not Be Named, but Fate had intervened and taken him away instead. That thought was even more painful than notions of losing a chance with Harry, and snapped her away from the past completely.

Harry had turned to Remus, bright-eyed. "I don't want to give up my dad's last name... it's not really proper, is it, after the sacrifice they made?"

"Their sacrifice was to give you happiness. Proper or not, do what makes you happy," Minerva finally allowed herself to interject.

She seemed to surprise Remus with it, but Harry nodded thoughtfully. "May I just add it on? At the end, make it part of my name, and not have to take anything else away?"

Remus was nearly in tears of joy. "Certainly... you can, anything you want... it's your name..."

Minerva nodded curtly and slipped the parchment from Albus' grasp. A quick, neat Lupin' was attached to the end of Harry J. Potter' and, allowing herself a sharp breath, she signed away her hope. "There. All done." Her voice cracked, and she berated herself silently. They needn't have seen the pain, had she been more careful.

But Harry smiled softly, turning his eyes up to her. "I still want to meet your mum, Professor," he murmured. "If you don't mind, Uncle Re. You know... since I've never had a grandmother and all..."

A jolt of surprise and elation hit with blinding force. Minerva's eyes went quickly from Harry to Remus and, with some shock, she noticed that he was still smiling widely. He nodded curtly to her... he silently offered her one last chance. Not mother, perhaps, but aunt. Involved. "Of course," she whispered with a smile. "Of course you can meet her. She wanted a grandchild..."

"And if Uncle Re doesn't mind, we could have holidays together... almost a family? Could we?" The plea was nearly gutwrenching, and Minerva's heart was certainly tied in it.

"I certainly wouldn't mind," Remus responded, ruffling Harry's locks. His eyes remained locked with Minerva's, and there was only understanding – no jealousy.

If possible, her smile grew wider. "I wouldn't mind either," she murmured. No, the dream was not gone. Only changed.

On The Ground

Draco crept up the stairs, shoes held in hand in an attempt to remain silent. The Death Eaters (junior) were in the Common Room, loudly joking and playing Exploding Snap, giving him the opening to sneak in without being noticed and mount the stairs to the fifth-year girls' dormitory. He cringed as he pushed the door open, but Filch had been around to fix it – it no longer squeaked. Pansy's bed was nearest the door – she was downstairs with Ross Blake, and Draco idly considered hexing her sheets. However, the sound of quiet sobs caught his attention and drew him across the room to where a trunk lay thrown open. Clothes were strewn over the bed and Blaise was digging frantically through her wardrobe, tossing articles of clothing over her shoulder – some found the trunk, some the floor – her back to the door.

He set down his shoes and started picking shirts up. "Where are you going?"

Blaise squealed and spun around, groping for her wand until she focused on Draco. "Oh, God. Draco, I thought you were Pansy, come back with Ross!" She turned back to the wardrobe. "I don't have time to talk. It's not safe for you to be up here."

"It's not safe for me to be anywhere. Where are you going? Are you moving rooms?" Draco added another shirt to the trunk, rounding the obstacle to perch on the edge of her bed.

She wiped her hand across her eyes, brushing the tears away. "My parents are dead. My brother is dead."

Draco was struck dumb. It wasn't often that he lacked a word for the situation. His memory unconsciously flickered back to a morning, only months earlier, when he'd stood with his mother and father in front of the mansion. They'd been a family that morning – a family torn, a family soon to be in pieces – but a family all the same. He wondered what Blaise was thinking. "I'm sorry," he murmured after a moment, on automatic. He felt terrible, thinking only of his own parents when Blaise was learning how it felt to lose her own – but what other choice had he? The wounds were fresh, and no one had come to fill them.

Blaise shook her head wordlessly, climbing onto the bed next to Draco and letting her tears fall. Draco provided a shoulder, but couldn't help staring anxiously at the door – someone could come in at any moment. "Are you going home for the funeral, then?" It was blunt, yes, but lingering would mean at the very least a minor scuffle with Ross.

"Can't go home," she murmured. "_He_ did it. The Headmaster is sending me into hiding, tonight." The composed Slytherin girl was back, scrubbing away at her wet cheeks. "I have to be ready soon. Snape's coming to see me off – he's got a secret way out, or something such, so the others won't notice."

Once again, Draco found himself dumbfounded. "You mean... you're going... for good?"

"Yes," she whispered. She turned paler and threw her arms around Draco. "I'm so sorry! I don't mean to leave you all alone like this, but I've no choice!"

Draco shrugged her away, nodding blankly. Everything seemed to be falling apart around him. He'd just found a friend, just found a way to make it without his family, and it had been torn from him. This time, he hadn't a clue what he'd done to deserve it – his father had always said that losses were merited as much as gains. He's been nice to Potter, he'd turned away from Dark Magic, he'd put his all into his classes, he'd done everything virtuous and befitting a practitioner of the Light – however little he wanted to be one – and what had come of it? A broken life.

"Draco?" Blaise had grabbed his shoulder and was shaking him lightly. "Are you alright? Have I said something?"

He glanced up, jarred out of his melancholy for a moment. "I'm as well as I can be. Do you need my help in packing?"

She looked hurt. "No, not really... are you going to answer my question?"

"I'm sorry, I was thinking," he replied lamely.

If anything, she looked more hurt. "I asked if you'd write me. Owls can find me, Dumbledore said."

"Yes. Sure, I'll write," Draco muttered. Was that a noise? Was someone on the stairs? He just wanted it to end – for it to be safe to walk outside in the spring air – to not be afraid that at any moment, Voldemort might leap from a hidden passage with a knife –

The door slid open silently, and Draco leapt to his feet, wand at the ready. A snort of impatience greeted him – Snape. "You're not supposed to be up here," the professor scowled.

"You were going to make her leave without saying goodbye," Draco accused. He tucked his wand back into his belt and sunk back onto the edge of the bed. He couldn't elaborate without showing Blaise more than he'd intended – there was no need for her to see how miserable she'd be leaving him – but contented himself with glaring at Snape as pointedly as possible.

Snape, of course, missed the point. "Of course I was. It was safer if no one knew. However, it's too late – Miss Zabini, there's no time to waste. I'll post anything you've left behind, but the portkey's to activate in only a few moments. Someone is waiting on the other end for you." He handed her a paperweight – it was likely one of Dumbledore's, considering the little Muggle castle on the inside of the glass ball – and grabbed Draco's arm. "It's time for you to be leaving, Draco. Please try not to alert Blake or Parkinson on your way out."

"Bye," he muttered, miserably sparing a glance for Blaise before ducking through the door. Alone again, he slipped down the twisting stairs and stood in the shadows as the card game continued. Gregory Goyle took that moment to lumber down out of the boy's dorms, and Draco used his bulk to shield himself as he made a dash for the portrait hole. Luckily, he made it.

He wandered the hall, in a daze. It made sense to send Blaise away – she had someplace to go; someone to go to. Her danger wasn't to the level of Draco's, but every moment she spent with him made her a greater target. Could he follow Snape's example; lock himself away in order to stay safe and keep others safe? No – he could never become the dour, affectionless man hiding away in the dungeons. Not in a thousand years!

Draco rounded a corner and found himself outside Professor Dumbledore's office. The door was open a crack, and he could hear voices echoing down the staircase from above. "There, then – there, it's all done. Harry J. Potter with a Lupin on the end, you've got a father."

He froze. It was unreal – Potter's dad was the werewolf? The ridiculous act had passed? His father would be furious when he learned – a werewolf made into a being, able to adopt children! Lupin wouldn't have to alert his employer to his disease, he'd probably be assured at least a day off every moon by law... how many afflicted children would it take before the stupid act would be repealed?

But Lucius Malfoy would never hear. A footstep sounded on the stair and Draco took a step back, planning on being gone before anyone knew he'd listened in, but the sight of Potter stepping through the doorway, beaming up at Lupin instilled so much envy – so much despair – that he was rooted to the spot.

Potter seemed surprised to find him. "Er – Malfoy... what are you doing here?"

Draco opened his mouth, but words didn't come, especially as Lupin laid his hand on Potter's shoulder – it was a gesture so reminiscent of his own father's that Draco was barely able to hold back a sob. He took another step back. "I- chess, with – but he's busy. I'll go."

"He's not busy, Draco," Lupin said kindly. "Go on up. He's with Professor McGonagall, but there's just chatting."

He wasn't with McGonagall. The two professors emerged behind Potter and Lupin. "Oh, Draco!" Dumbledore greeted with a smile, crossing to pat his shoulder. "Is there anything I can help you with? I'm all free for tea, or a game of chess? Remus here has just adopted Harry, isn't it exciting?"

Draco choked on his own response. He stared at Dumbledore, smiling like a fool; at McGonagall beaming maternally at the Golden Boy and Lupin's hand on the grinning Potter's shoulder. And Voldemort was after them all – a single wrong move, a single "Avada Kedavra," and that happy picture would be ruined as surely as the photograph of last Christmas at Malfoy Manor. With another glance at Dumbledore, he turned and took flight.

If I Should Fall

Harry watched Malfoy flee down the hall and turned to Dumbledore in confusion. "Professor, what -"

"Don't let it ruin your good spirits," the headmaster murmured. "I'll speak to Severus later. Now, then... your friends are no doubt waiting in Gryffindor Tower to hear the good news. Why don't you head back there... Remus, you've permission to accompany him, if you so wish."

"I'd love to." Remus patted Harry's shoulder. "Shall we? I'd love to see how your classmates are doing – has Neville faced up to Snape yet?"

Harry waved at McGonagall and Dumbledore as he allowed himself to be led off. "No, not yet. He's just terrible in class. I think Malfoy's making Snape angrier on purpose."

Remus gave a snort. "I wouldn't doubt it. Can _you_ imagine living with Severus Snape?"

He wrinkled his nose. "It almost makes me feel sorry for him. Except, of course, that he's so bloody smug all the time. I almost had to stay with Snape – remember?"

"I'd rather not think about it, actually. James would've come back to haunt me if I'd allowed that to happen... you really want to add Lupin to your name? You're not just doing it to make me happy, are you?" Remus nudged Harry's arm, lifting an eyebrow questioningly.

"Well, I don't think I'll want to go by it – after all, how many jokes can you make from Harry Lupin'? – but I don't think my father would mind. I didn't know him or anything, but he wanted Sirius and you to look after me, right?"

Remus nodded. "And Peter. Peter was always part of the plan, Harry." A sad smile worked its way onto his face. "He wasn't always the way he was when you met him. I don't know what happened to make him into the monster he became... but he used to be warm and caring. We were the best of friends – just like you and Hermione and Ron. Oh, we got into plenty of arguments, don't get me wrong. Sirius and Peter didn't get on as well as Peter and I or Sirius and James... that's probably why Peter chose to pin the deaths of your parents on Sirius in the end, rather than on me... but we were a team."

"Then why _did_ he go to Voldemort?" They were outside Gryffindor Tower, now, but Harry didn't want to go in yet. He leaned against the wall, waiting for an answer.

"I don't know," Remus sighed. "People change, Harry. Maybe he felt as though he was unappreciated. Maybe Voldemort's offer was one he couldn't refuse – Peter's mother and sister could've been threatened, though both passed on while Sirius was in Azkaban. Peter changed. Sirius changed, too – I did as well. James would've, if he'd had the chance... you're growing up, surely you've watched your friends grow up too. They won't be the same people at the end."

Harry thought of Ron's newfound adoration for his father, of Seamus and Dean mooning over the Ravenclaw girls, of Hermione blushing when she caught him in his boxers, and of the despair on Parvati's face as Dumbledore escorted her off into hiding. It was true – they'd grown and changed in hundreds of ways since the first moment he'd stepped from the Hogwarts Express and stared up at Hogwarts towering across the lake. "But... do you think one of them could do what Peter did?"

Remus sighed. "It's always possible that one could. However, that doesn't mean you should stop being friends with them, or be suspicious of them at every turn. You still have a childhood to finish. You didn't get enough of one with the Dursleys, but it's my job – my _pleasure_ – to see you get your chance. Let me be the one who worries."

Harry grinned and launched himself into a hug. He couldn't get enough hugs – Aunt Petunia certainly hadn't blessed him with any, even as she showered Dudley with kisses. "Do you want to go in, now? Hermione won't believe it – she thought the act wouldn't pass."

"Neither did I," Remus replied. He kept an arm slung over Harry's shoulder, grinning more broadly than Harry could remember seeing him. "Alright, then, let's see how you've fixed up the old place."

"Buffy rules," he told the Fat Lady. "Seamus chose the password this week," Harry explained at Remus' confused expression. "Seamus is one of the prefects. Hermione's the other in my year. Seamus thought it was just hilarious when he got the letter – he doesn't take it seriously, like Percy did."

Remus followed Harry inside. "Neither did your Dad. He thought it was just a joke. Hey, the chairs have been reupholstered."

Ron, siting in front of the fire, caught sight of them and bounded over. "So Percy knew what he was talking about? Think he's got the new job? Should I call you Lupin now?"

Harry laughed at the barrage of questions. "Ron, calm down! I'm not going anywhere! And I'll be spending the summer in London! Can he come and visit?" He turned to Remus and grinned.

"At my cousin's, not in London probably – and yes, of course. Anyone you want can come to visit. We can probably pull together a birthday party, too." If anything, Remus' grin widened as Harry gave a yelp of happiness.

"Wow... I've never had a party before..."

Harry found himself surrounded by his friends – the Quidditch team, Seamus, Dean, Neville, Lavender, Ron, and Hermione leaned over to whisper in his ear. "It's nice to see you smiling again."

"So you've a professor as your da," Seamus mused. "Plenty of help with the DADA homework now... and you owe me for writing up all those reports of yours..."

"Ooooh, Professor Lupin, I think there's something haunting my wardrobe!" Lavender cried.

"Harry, you well enough for Quidditch yet? Ravenclaw's soon," one of the twins put in, while the other (Fred?) stepped up to pat him on the back.

The commotion was getting to be too much, even for Harry at the height of celebration. _Not a celebration. Voldemort, leaning over a map – the Death Eaters surrounded him, in formation, all with wands ready_. Harry took a step back and tripped over someone standing behind him.

Hermione grabbed his arm and kept him standing. _Voldemort grabbed a Death Eater's arm and pointed to the map. "Here. This is where we strike. The old man won't know what's hit him."_ She was shaking his shoulder violently, but the wispy vision hung over her face. "Harry? Harry, are you alright?"

__

"How can we be sure passage hasn't been closed up over the centuries? Surely some Headmaster or another has found it," asked a man, blonde hair visible at the edge of his hood. Only months earlier, Harry would've assumed the man to be Lucius Malfoy.

"Salazar Slytherin noted that it had been concealed. Do you doubt me, Avery? If the entrance fails, the fault is yours – you provided the diaries from which I found the information; you and Malfoy. He has paid for his crimes." The Dark Lord traced something on the parchment. Harry couldn't make it out. "We strike soon. They'll be distracted by Potter and the werewolf."

He grabbed Remus' sleeve before pitching to the side, into Hermione's arms. There was no way to stop the vision – he could only hope to hold on for the ride and remember to report. Someone murmured in his ear. Someone took his hand. Someone brushed the hair from his forehead.

__

"Do we go for the Potter boy, or bring you the Malfoy child first?" another Death Eater asked, sinking to one knee to address Voldemort.

"I care nothing for Potter. He's an annoyance – finding Malfoy's brat is all that matters. I wait by the entrance while you bring me the boy. It's simple. Foul this up, and you're all dead. Or worse. You'll be in the old man's hands, and you know where you'll end up. Azkaban." Voldemort sneered as the circle shuddered. "You are the trusted ones. You know of the spy still haunting the ranks – if the old man is waiting, you'll all die for treason, whether Malfoy is found or not."

There was no spy. For a moment, Harry felt sorry for the deaths he'd likely be causing once Dumbledore got word of the attack. But there was no helping it – death for the other side was preferable to losing his friends. "Kill anyone who stands in the way. If I hear word of any hesitation, over any kill, a dose of Cruciatus_ should be enough to cure you of it," Voldemort was continuing. "We strike at the last rays of the sun. The room should be full at that time in the evening. Hostages will ensure our getaway, and my power will be returned by the brat's blood. _Apparate_. Now."_

The Death Eaters disappeared, but Voldemort remained for just a moment. He glanced around and suddenly, inexplicably, met Harry's gaze. He screamed, suddenly able to see the Common Room once more. He was cradled against Remus' chest, and Hermione had hold of his hand. Ron and Seamus were hanging over Remus' shoulders helplessly, and the others were all visible a step back. "Harry? Are you okay?" Hermione asked, as soon as he was able to focus on his surroundings again.

"What did you See, Harry?" Ron asked, moving around to kneel next to Hermione.

Harry looked up and met Remus' eyes. He was worried. He gave Harry a squeeze, as if to say that he needn't answer. Harry did anyways. "He's coming," he whispered to Remus. "He's coming – now."

Read? Review!


	22. Look What Love Gave Us

  
**Author notes:** Hello, again - your cruel, cliffhanger writing author here! I'm so happy to see what a wonderful response I've had on the past few chapters! I've been getting a few questions - and the answers to all of them, if I haven't owled back, can be found in past chapters. Hmm.. I wish I had something wonderful to say... and I don't. So I'll shut up, now - just read!

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Part Four: Heaven Don't Hear Me

"The evil face was now smiling.

How touching...' it hissed. I always value bravery... Yes, boy, your parents were brave... I killed your father first, and he put up a courageous fight... but your mother needn't have died... she was trying to protect you...'"

-Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, pg 213 (2nd ed., paperback)

Chapter Twenty-One – Look What Love Gave Us

Hermione stared down at Harry, his words sticking in the front of her mind. _He's coming – now._ "Oh God," Professor Lupin murmured. "Where, Harry? Where's he attacking?"

Harry scrambled to his feet, staring around in horror. "I... here, but I don't know... he had a map. Something about Slytherin. He's coming at sundown. We've only a few hours... we can't watch everywhere!"

Professor Lupin grabbed Harry's shoulder as he took to his feet as well, and Hermione followed to listen. "We're getting you out of here. You're going into hiding with the others. No arguments – not from you, and not from Albus."

"No, I can't go. He's not after me, not this time. He's after Malfoy. We've got to finish this _now_." Harry pulled away and turned to Hermione. "Whatever you've learned, it's time to get it in the open."

"I- Harry, I just have a theory – I don't think it's right, I haven't found a map –"

"There's no time." Harry grabbed her arm and dragged Hermione toward the door. "We're going to Dumbledore. Now what's the theory?"

Hermione gulped. She _hated_ being wrong, and giving wrong information right now could cost lives. "It's from the poems – Slytherin sneaking into Ravenclaw's chambers... I don't think it's true... but their towers were next to each other. There could've been a staircase hidden between the walls, or along the back – but Harry, the tower was destroyed centuries ago! I'm sure the builders would've noticed a secret passage laying the castle open to the outside –"

"Not if it was hidden by magic!" Lupin was behind them, hurrying them down the hall. "Yes, I think I understand what you're getting at, Harry. Did you See something to that affect?"

"Just that it had been hidden – Voldemort said it. Maybe only Slytherin's heir can access it, or something... I don't know, it doesn't matter. But Hermione, where did the passage end? Where might the entrance be? We need more information!"

Hermione snatched her arm away, attempting to keep from being dragged right down the stairs. "Harry, slow down! I'm sorry, I don't know where it starts... it has to end in Rowena Ravenclaw's rooms. Her private rooms... they're now in the Ravenclaw dormitories, but I don't know which ones they are!" And then realization hit. "Oh no... if he attacks this evening, all the Death Eaters will enter the school where students are studying..."

"Exactly," Harry murmured. Hermione paused for a moment, watching thoughts flicker across his face before she turned and took the stairs at a bound. He was right – there wasn't a moment to waste. They might not be able to stop the Dark Lord from entering the castle, but evacuating the Ravenclaw students would ensure that no one was killed.

"Hold up!" A voice called from behind. It was Ron, accomanied by his brothers and Ginny. "What do you need us to do, mate? Find McGonagall? Owl Percy?"

"We could owl dad -" Fred began.

George nodded. "- and Dad can do far more than Percy. He's been at the Ministry for ages -"

"No," cut in Ron, sharply. "Leave dad out of it. His hands are tied."

"Tied by what?" Ginny asked, but Harry was already speaking. "Find McGonagall. And Snape, if you can. We're going to find Dumbledore. There's no time to waste – check everywhere. And hurry!"

Ron, George, Fred, and Ginny were off as soon as he'd finished, breaking off to try different places. "Why Snape?" Hermione asked.

"Malfoy. Snape should know where he is, and we haven't the time to get the map. Uncle Re, do you think Dumbledore's still in his office?"

Lupin nodded. "He intended to file the paperwork before finding Professor Snape, I believe. We should be able to catch him up."

The mad dash down to Dumbledore's office put Hermione in mind of another such dash, five years earlier, down the very same halls to warn of an attack on the Philosopher's Stone. Hopefully this time, the man in question would still be in the building, rather than called to London. She ran through what she'd learned in her mind – the poetry, the diary, all the ancient sources in the library – but nothing provided a firm answer. Where had Rowena Ravenclaw's rooms been? Somewhere in the tower, yes, but what would be the logical place?

"Professor Dumbledore!" Harry called as he took the steps two at a time. Professor Lupin was hanging back, but Hermione tried to keep up. "Professor, I've had a vision, it's urgent!"

Hermione slammed into Harry's back as he stopped abruptly. She saw why immediately – Snape was there, and glowering dangerously. "What do you want?" he snapped, standing from his chair.

Dumbledore took that moment to come in from the adjoining room. "Ahh, Harry... please, Severus, sit back down." Oddly enough, Snape obeyed. "Now, then, Harry, what seems to be the problem?"

"Voldemort is coming. Tonight, at sundown – he and the Death Eaters have already Apparated into position." Harry crossed the room and leaned his hands on the table, cutting off Snape. He looked oddly grown up... beyond his years. Hermione hung back, watching him.

"Where?" Dumbledore asked simply. He lowered himself into his chair and started digging in a drawer. "The tunnels on your father's map – yes, I know about that, stop glaring, Severus – are monitored now. Besides storming the front door, there's not a way to approach without being known."

Harry turned and held his hand out, gesturing for Hermione to do so. She did, of course, but slowly and hesitantly. "I don't know for certain... Professor, the books that Lucius Malfoy stole for You Know Who contained a book of love poetry about the Founders, mainly an affair between Slytherin and Ravenclaw," she rattled off. Facts were good – facts were easy. "I don't know why I didn't see it earlier... but Slytherin supposedly sneaked into her rooms using a secret passage. When the Slytherin tower was destroyed, I suppose the passage was never discovered because of some sort of magical concealment, leaving it open to the outside. The greenhouses don't come flush with the stone... I suppose it's behind there, though I can't be certain..."

"And it would allow entrance to the Ravenclaw dormitories," Dumbledore nodded. "Yes... however, I also do not know where her rooms were. I assume the girls' dormitory, on the highest level. The room there is rather large... yes, she would wish to be close to the sky..."

"Do you have a map, Professor?" Harry asked. "If we could see the layout of the rooms, we could decide upon a course of action. They think they have the element of surprise... they might... Professor Dumbledore, I think Voldemort can see me."

Snape's hands curled into fists on the arms of his chair and Lupin took a few steps closer to Harry. "What do you mean?" Snape demanded. "It's impossible. Unless we've been wrong all along... no, it's impossible. He just looked in your direction."

"I'm not imagining it. He looked directly at me, then Apparated... we can't be sure what we're dealing with now, Professor Snape. It's possible he's been Seeing _me_ as well, at different times... All he'll know is how sick I've been, if that's the case. Or a refresher course in various classes... it's not as if I'm privy to classified information." He shook his head. "I shouldn't ever be. Not when this is a possibility... thank goodness it happened now, and not years from now, when I might actually be a part of the planning."

"We have to break the connection," Snape murmured.

"We can," Hermione countered. "I think... oh, we should've known all along! Professor, one of the books stolen, the Egyptian one, contained a spell to block the connection... it also contained a large number of mind control spells. Such a spell could be strengthened by a connection like the one they have. What if Voldemort intends to do one of those? Ohhh... Professor Lupin, you remember the spell I told you about, right?"

Lupin nodded. "Harry and Lord Voldemort have to be in the same room. Well... it won't be as difficult as we'd thought to arrange that, though I'd be wrong not to admit my hesitation at the whole thing. We don't even know for certain the spell will work."

"It has to," Snape growled. "He could be listening in on us even as we speak!"

"He's coming for Malfoy," Harry put in. "Professor Snape, do you know where he is? Maybe he should be removed from the school... how does the blood spell work, Hermione?"

Hermione glanced at Dumbledore, who was frowning and examining Harry thoughtfully, before answering. "Well, according to the translated text... You Know Who will probably bring along one of his Veela followers to chant the spell. All You Know Who has to do is cut Malfoy. Every drop of blood spilt will take away days... if he kills Malfoy, he'll end up fifteen years old. No one will be able to tell he's anyone but a fifteen year old... I don't know if his memories will remain, however. I couldn't find any examples of the spell being used. It's Dark Magic after all."

"Sneaking him away won't help," Snape noted. "Voldemort will find him, in the end. If he fails this time, or only scratches him, can he try again?"

"No," Hermione shook her head. "The moment the knife breaks the skin, the spell's activated. When the cut is sealed, the spell is completed. He'd have to find another pair of mother and child with Veela blood to use it again – it's good only in that situation. Once the spell's done, Draco is safe."

Dumbledore passed a map to Hermione, finally breaking in to the conversation. "It's as current as is possible. I'll give you a pass to the restricted section – there is a particularly classified book there, containing complete maps after each renovation. I trust you'll find what we need – the passageway will not be there, but the walls may be thicker in one area... you know what to look for, Miss Granger. Severus, please go find Mr. Malfoy. We must decide how to handle this... Remus, I'd like you to help me evacuate the Ravenclaw dormitories. We have only an hour or so. Harry... Harry, it's too dangerous to us all for you to be involved in planning. Your father will come to get you before the battle – this connection will be broken, I promise you. We will find a way."

Harry didn't appear to be amused – his confidence was crumbled and he slumped down into a chair. "Isn't there anything I can do?"

"You can come with me," Hermione heard herself asking abruptly. "Well... you can't look at the book obviously, but I'd like it if you were there." She blushed furiously as Lupin regarded her, eyebrow raised and expression knowing. "I mean, I can bounce ideas off you, and you don't have anything else to do -"

"A marvelous idea, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said, eyes bright with some sort of mischief. "Now, if I'm not mistaken, the Weasleys will all wish to be involved as well... if you could send the elder two up here? Ronald and Miss Weasley will be able to help by keeping the younger Gryffindors calm."

Snape was up and out the door with a swift nod of affirmation. Harry set a hand on Hermione's shoulder and steered her from the room. "Thanks for trying to make me useful," he murmured as they descended the stairs. "I know there's very little I can do. If Voldemort's been listening in the whole time..."

"It'll be okay, Harry. We're not going to let him win." Hermione patted his hand, flashing the warmest smile she could muster at him. His, in response, was strained with apprehension.

+

The Ravenclaws took the evacuation with their normal poise – several of the youngest grew hysterical and had to be comforted, but the prefects knew their duty and followed it to the letter. Remus ignored the fear-filled glances of several of those who had been his students in his year at the school. Despite being so bright, Ravenclaws as a lot seemed to be surprisingly prejudiced. They included a few Muggleborns among their ranks, but the internal politics of the House seemed more along the lines of Slytherin than Gryffindor – while tolerated, the Muggleborns were a group all of their own. It was disturbing to watch: the older Muggleborns ushered the younger out the portrait hole and they all clustered together along one of the walls while the other students stood a little apart. Remus wanted to yell and force them to talk to each other – it was behavior like theirs that led to the Death Eaters and their ilk having such power in society.

They all stood around in the hallway, awaiting further instruction from Professor Dumbledore or their Head of House, Filius Flitwick. "Why are we in the hall?" one girl asked – young; Remus hadn't taught her.

Remus glanced over and caught Flitwick's gaze, and the petite man shook his head emphatically. "We've... er, there are some rumors that there's a... security breach inside the dormitory," he mumbled, embarrassed at such a lie. He thought the seventh years, at the very least, should know what they faced.

"Who are you?" she asked. "You're not a professor. Not even for one of the electives."

"He's a werewolf," one of the other students hissed, too softly for him to hear, had he been human – Nora Astor, he remembered. She'd be a sixth year – bright, of course, and from an impeccable bloodline.

"Yes, I am," Remus answered, "and I'm most unhappy that you've forgotten your lessons, Miss Astor. Werewolves, as you learned in your fourth year, have a heightened sense of hearing despite the state of the moon."

Nora blushed furiously and slunk back against the wall – to insult the knowledge of a Ravenclaw was near blasphemy to most Hogwarts students. "I'm very glad to see you, Professor Lupin," one of the students from the Muggleborn group (George Fenton? A seventh year, now) asked, approaching from across the hall. "I was just wondering – in the light of the whole Act of Council, will you be returning to Hogwarts?"

"No... I've a job in Muggle London I very much enjoy," Remus admitted with a smile. He kept one eye on Dumbledore and Flitwick, but the students around him (even Nora and the youngest children) were calming down under his unruffled demeanor. "I'm a chemistry professor at a state school there. Plus, I very much doubt your current professor would wish to give up her job."

"Oh, but you were much more knowledgable about the field, sir," Fenton went on. "I was very much hoping to ask you a few more things about the Dementors – I saw Potter's Patronus at one of the Quidditch matches that year, but Professor Wolfe believes that none of us are advanced enough to learn it... I protested, and she threatened a detention for disruption of class!"

It sounded very much like Fenton – he'd been the very top of his class which, considering he was a Ravenclaw, was certainly saying something. "I'll be spending quite a bit of time around here until year's end," Remus said, trying not to grin too broadly. "I may be able to work out a bit of tutoring on a weekend? You'll have to speak to Headmaster Dumbledore about it, since I'm no longer on the payroll..."

"Ah, Remus," Dumbledore himself called, sweeping down the corridor. "I need to send you up to do a search of the chamber... oh, hello, Mr. Fenton. How's your mum?" Dumbledore smiled at the young man and turned to Remus. "Did you know that Mr. Fenton's mother is actually a witch? Or she would've been, had she been trained – she grew up in the southern bit of the States, where the system of magical education hadn't been perfected..."

Remus cleared his throat. Dumbledore was truly horrible about staying on task, even when the situation was dire. "Which chamber, Professor?"

"Oh- why, the one we think was Rowena's. On the top floor? Yes, I must let you in... I'll be back in just a moment, Mr. Fenton." Dumbledore took Remus' shoulder and led him over to the majestic portrait of a regal woman in gold and blue guarding the door. He leaned over and whispered something, leaning back again to let the portrait swing open. "Yes, here we go... the stairs to the girls' dormitories are right over there, by the tapestry of the unicorn... I've sent Minerva to search the boys' dorms. I'll be just outside – remember, send the stragglers out as quickly as you can, we've little time!"

Remus dashed over to the stairs and took them two at a time, stopping only to check for any students remaining in each dorm. There were none. The top of the tower was a largish room, currently the dormitory for the fifth years. Nothing seemed amiss – the room was square rather than round, as most dorms at Hogwarts were, and the windows were a bit bigger than normal. If the onetime Headmistress had indeed kept ravens, they would've been quite happy with such access to the air, though spells had since been put in place to protect students from the elements. The stone walls were decorated in faded murals, mostly of forest creatures, though a badger, raven, snake, and lion were prominent among the lot. He cast a few listening spells strong enough to last the night – the moment a Death Eater entered, the teachers would be able to ambush from the Common Room below and halt the attack before it had begun.

And Harry would be there. Remus tried to put the thought from his mind as he listened along the walls, seeking for any noise that might suggest the entrance Voldemort's men would take. It wouldn't fade away, especially as it became clear that his search was futile. Harry would be exposed to the danger of Voldemort head on, and Remus could do very little to protect him.

Not that he needed protection, of course – Harry had faced the Dark Lord twice face to face, according to his own, humble tales, and had fared more than marvelously, according to his friends. He'd faced an echo of Voldemort's younger self – a young man who might be resurrected, were he to touch young Draco Malfoy. Harry had overcome the Dementors and saved Sirius when all hope seemed lost. James' son – HIS son, now – was a remarkable young man, not to be underestimated... but the feeling that this confrontation might be Harry's last kept Remus from being calm over the coming fight. He didn't know what deity would have the cruelty necessary to take Harry away just as Remus' dreams of fourteen long years had been answered... but then again, some deity had allowed a raging werewolf to take a young Remus by surprise.

The next few hours could bring any number of outcomes – all Remus could do was hold on for the ride. He turned, grimacing, and took to the stairs. The trap had been laid. All to be done now was wait.

+

The shelves and tables of the restricted section were as dreary and frightning as they were during the middle of the night, Harry discovered as he and Hermione were let into the back by Madame Pince. The librarian scowled severely at the both of them, as though of the belief their pass – from Dumbledore, no less – was forged. Hermione seemed to take no notice. No doubt she'd had enough experience with the woman to know just what her moods were, but for Harry, the suspicion was both annoying and insulting. She didn't know him, and had no way of knowing he'd snuck into the restricted section years earlier in the dark of the night... there was no call for her to treat him as a criminal.

"Harry, just sit over here," Hermione said, breaking into his angry thoughts as she gestured to a chair. "Hmm... here's a book for you to read! _Visions of the Future: the Seer's Guide_. I wonder why it's in the Restricted Section... well, go ahead!"

It took a great deal of reserve for Harry to keep from rolling his eyes at Hermione's eagerness – it was simply a book, and Harry couldn't care less about the whole Seer bit – but took it anyways and tossed it on the table. "Well, where's yours?" he asked, with no intention of opening the tome.

Hermione seemed to know his mind – she'd been doing that quite often lately, he mused – and shot a scowl in his direction before returning to the shelves and lugging an incredibly thick, very tall text to crash onto the table across from him. "Here, now, you can't look on... what if _he's_ looking through your brain...?"

Harry sniffed and yanked the divination book from the table. "Fine, then. I'll read the bloody thing, if it'll make you happy."

She nodded decisively and, with a quick glance to make sure Harry wasn't trying to read upside down, slammed the cover open and began paging through at a near-frantic pace.

He kept glaring at the top of her head and put his feet up on the table. She didn't yell at him, for once – it was certainly proof he wasn't looking at the map book, as he was now slumped so far down in his chair that he could barely see over the top of his knees. With a sigh, he settled the book on his lap and opened the cover. If he was forced to be burndened with the Sight, he might as well know all the gorey details...

The book contained a front page of swirling yellow, green, blue, and red and, beneath the moving painting, was a simple command. "Look, and See." Frowning a bit in confusion, Harry did.

And then he was falling, as with the pensieve and Riddle's diary, falling into the swirling colours and down to the middle –

"_Avery! Are you ready for your task?" he asked. Or his mouth asked. And his eyes saw a man robed in black crouched in a bow on the ground before him._

"Yes, Lord. Always. The scroll is kept close to my heart," the hooded man promised, patting his chest. He reached out and lifted the hem of Harry's robes to his lips. "It is my honour to serve, as always."

Not Harry's robes. His own tongue disobeyed his mind – his mind screaming for help. "To serve, of course. Failure is not an option – you are lucky your own mother passed on, Avery, or you might be the sacrifice. Would you run, as Malfoy's brat?"

The shock was passing. It was the book – the book was restricted because of its affect on the mind. Hopefully Hermione would notice his mesmerization before it was too late... but as he was holed in the mind of the enemy, why not pinpoint a location – he'd done it before. "I am not so youthful as Draco Malfoy," Avery was saying. "My Lord would no doubt wish for a younger donor than I."

"Perhaps," Voldemort said. His eyes were focused on Avery – in his peripheral vision, Harry could make out trees; the gray stone of the school. And a cane, Voldemort was using a staff to keep himself upright in his advanced age. Harry's blood was mingled with that of Narcissa Malfoy in the man's veins, due to the first blood sacrifice – what affect would that have on closing the connection? Would Narcissa's blood foul up the whole thing?

Voldemort turned – but toward the school, not away. The gray blocks filled his vision. He raised his wand and murmured "Revelo_" and the wall seemed to melt away into a darkened, dreary staircase spiraling up into the wall. But the spell was elementary! Couldn't anyone have discovered the entrance at any time?_

The return to reality was much more jarring than in any of his other visions. The book wasn't there when he opened his eyes – Hermione must've torn it away – but was replaced immediately by a splitting headache. "Harry? Oh! I'm so sorry, I should've known better than to let you read a book from the Restricted -"

"Hermione, bloody hell, how old am I?" Harry snapped. She was going too far – after all, at least one of his Restricted Section trips in the past had been at her request! However, his anger made her expression of worry sink to one of hurt. "Oh, come off it... don't make that face..." he gave a sigh and rubbed his temples. "It's my own fault for reading the damned thing in the first place. And aren't we wasting time? You're supposed to be finding answers. How long was I in the Vision?"

"It really was a vision?" she asked. "Oh... I thought it was just... I think it wasn't more than ten or fifteen minutes. You were mouthing words when I looked up."

"He's on his way inside. I saw him doing it..." When Hermione looked ready to collapse in fear, Harry shook his head. "No time, remember? We need to know _now_ where he's going to come in. I have to be there in time..."

She nodded. "Harry, I know, but... the architect was German... all the earliest blueprints are in German shorthand! I can't understand them!"

"Then go later. Something should be helpful before the fire, right? And the architect must've been dead by that time..." Harry started to sit up, but remembered himself in time – Voldermort truly could be looking in on their every move. "I should go find Professor Dumbledore... tell him time's short..."

"He knows," Hermione said. "He can see the sun setting the same as the rest of us." She looked back down at the pages, flipping ahead.

Harry shook his head. "I think he might attack early. It's still at least a half hour til sundown – what if he Saw us all talking? Saw the plan, and is attacking now instead of later? I've _got_ to be there to end this! I don't want to See his murders for the rest of my life!"

Hermione gave a snort and glared over the top of the pages. "Harry, I really need to concentrate! And at this point, there's nothing more for you to do... we'll head over as soon as I've found the information needed! Now please, be quiet!"

He opened his mouth to retort, but she'd already looked back to her place. Harry sighed softly, trying not to disturb the research. It was so difficult to sit, without anything to do...

And then a shriek sounded through the library. Harry sat up straight, not caring what Voldemort might See. "Hermione, what is it?"

She looked up slowly, face an image of horror. "Oh, God... Harry, we've got it all wrong!"

Read? Review!


	23. A World Full of Killing

  
**Author notes:** And heeeeere's chapter! I'll cut the A/N short - but I'm still evil :)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter Twenty-Two – A World Full of Killing

An attack, the rumors had stated. Draco had run from visions of happiness in Lupin and Potter to word of his own death. Hiding behind a tapestry near Slytherin House the story had come to light. Greg and Ross were in on it – Pansy too – eagerly awaiting the coming of Lord Voldemort. Greg thought Vincent Crabbe would be there as well, apparently a full-fledged Death Eater now, instead of a student. Voldemort was coming, bringing someone to finish the job and kill Draco.

It was too late to run, and yet Draco had found himself running yet again. Was there nothing else for him? There wasn't time to disappear into hiding with Blaise, even though such a move would be suicide. Voldemort wouldn't back down. He wouldn't be ignored. The spell was already in motion. Only a flick of the wrist, and Voldemort would be Tom Riddle again.

He found himself in the long hallway between the Ravenclaw Tower and the Hufflepuff Tower. There were few rooms through here, but one abandoned classroom drew him on. It was cozier than the rest – a fireplace dominated the room, and a doorway led into a shallow, useless closet near the back. It seemed almost residential, which was why Draco had taken it over as a private retreat after his father's death. Even the ceiling was painted, with a mural of birds. Despite the layer of dust, it had become his.

Voldemort was coming, and Draco's life would provide immortality of a sort – lengthening of life, at the least. He'd panicked about it for too long. And now the moment was here... what choice was there to be made? Voldemort would come, Voldemort would find him wherever he hid, and Voldemort would win the night.

Except...

Except Draco could take matters into his own hands. He'd considered the idea before, of course, but something had always interfered and made life worth living again. Even in the darkest hours of his despair after his father's death, Blaise had been there. He couldn't help but wonder if Blaise's family being a target hadn't something to do with their friendship... and now the whole school was in danger because of him.

Voldemort was coming, but Draco would take matters into his own hands, and Voldemort would miss him. The sun was dipping below the horizon outside as Draco rummaged through the drawer of the old teacher's desk. Yes, and a letter opener was there, among quills and broken bottles of ink. A whispered spell sharpened and lengthened the blade and another numbed him to deaden the pain.

No need for the pain. After all, he was doing everyone a favor. Voldemort would stay an old, feeble man. Hogwarts would be safe, at least for a while. Blaise wouldn't be any more of a target. Potter wouldn't have to share the limelight. And Snape... Snape wouldn't be burdened by a charge he didn't want. No pain at all as a long, deep gash was opened from wrist to elbow. He felt a bit guilty for staining the floor, but there were plenty of stains from years of student use anyways.

The blood trickled, and pooled – and Draco studied the veins on his arm detachedly, one last time, before giving up to whatever was on the other side. At least in this, Voldemort wouldn't win.

+

"Alright, settle down," Ron commanded. Seamus had asked him to fill in for Hermione, as she was researching for Dumbledore and unable to do her prefect duties. Seamus hadn't wanted to tell the other Gryffindors of the danger they'd soon be facing – he was worried about the littlest ones – but Ron trusted them with the information. They were Gryffindors after all; the proud and brave. "There's nothing much we can do about it," he continued.

They'd been in an uproar for a good long time before Ron could even hear his voice over the din. Predictably, most of the older students wanted to go out and fight. "We're not Aurors. We can't possibly beat them without help, we're just a load of students," he argued.

Katie Bell didn't seem to agree. "Ron, we can't simply let the teachers sacrifice themselves! The staff is only so large – and if they make it past the staff, they may be coming here."

Angelina Johnson nodded. "If there's any group they'll want to destroy, it's us. Gryffindors always fight for the Light. Once we all graduate, we'll be more of a threat to the lot of them than we are now."

Not always for the Light, Ron mused, thinking of Peter Pettigrew and Harry's uncle, Henry, Jr. Both had been Gryffindors, and both ended up in You Know Who's clutches. "Dumbledore said they were after Malfoy," Ron countered. "Kill Malfoy, get out, before they're killed in turn. The professors can certainly take out a good number of them before they get away."

"Not good enough," Lavender snapped. "We all know what happened to Parvati's mum. What if one of us is next? I don't know about you, but I _need_ to be out there and fighting, for my family's sake!"

Ron stopped short. Lavender's argument sounded suspiciously like his own would be, but for a bit of new knowledge. "Lavender," he murmured, "going out to attack will do anything but help your family."

"I don't understand," she shot back.

Dean nodded in agreement. "Ron, you're not making sense. Getting rid of You Know Who will help all our families in the end. I'm Muggleborn, you know that... if he's gone, I can stop worrying about my parents and my brother being murdered because of what I am."

"But I don't think we can kill him," Ron admitted. "As hard as we try... I think he's beyond both our skill and our mortality. Dean, Lavender... he's had unicorn blood. He's been resurrected with Harry's own blood. He's not a human being anymore... he's something different. Oh, if he kills Malfoy, he'll be as vulnerable as the rest of us – but as little as I like Malfoy, I don't wish him dead. We can't kill You Know Who. That's Harry's role someday. If we oppose him face to face right now... he'll remember."

"So what if he remembers?" Katie countered. "I firmly intend to fight with my last breath, if I must. He can remember if he wishes!"

"Remember, and learn who you are. And who your family is. And then, instead of hearing about Parvati's mum, you'll go home one morning and find a skull over your house, and it'll be you going into hiding. Or you dead." Ron was well aware of the looks of disgust directed at him from all quarters, accusing him of cowardice. He gave a shrug. "If You Know Who... if _Voldemort_ regains the power he once had, it will happen. It's not our time to strike yet. That time will come. Right now, we need to stay here, in case the professors do lose. Someone has to protect the first-years."

Ron stood taller as Lavender stared in something akin to awe. He'd done it – he'd said the name. Even his father couldn't do that. And the day would come to fight – just not today. Surprisingly, they all started to agree.

+

Severus Snape was running out of places to search for his godson. According to Albus, the boy had run off upon seeing Lupin and Potter standing together as father and son. It was disgusting – Draco was a Slytherin, he should've been stronger than that. It would've been painful, yes. Severus had never had the kind of relationship with his father that Draco had managed with his, but even after the old man's death, he'd missed him. He'd been Severus' father, after all. One always had to stop and mourn for one's parents, no matter how one had been treated in youth.

He didn't understand why Draco had changed in the aftermath of the murders. True, Voldemort had gone from friend to enemy, but Severus had been trying to engineer that change of attitude in the boy since day one. It seemed to be more than that, though – oftentimes, Severus would find Draco waiting in the front room of his quarters. Just sitting, waiting for something... some promise Severus had mentioned but forgotten, or some event that seemed to the Potions Master unimportant. And each and every time, his response had been the wrong one. Albus spent more time with Draco than his own godfather did.

Not on purpose, of course. It's just that Severus was a very busy man. He had fourteen Potions classes a week to teach – two for each form – and papers and tests to grade for each class. Severus had never wished to be a father or a guardian to anyone or anything. He didn't trust himself enough for the job, and didn't wish to part with the time. Draco was fifteen, though – he shouldn't have needed more than an hour a week of attention from his guardian, according to Severus' calculations. Wasn't fifteen the age when all young men rebelled?

He reached the corridor between the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw dormitories. Severus would have to give up in only a few moments – the sun was on the horizon, and Voldemort would show his face soon. And, after all, if Severus couldn't find Draco, Voldemort wouldn't have a chance. They'd just have to send the boy into hiding, that was the answer, even if Albus wouldn't admit it. Hogwarts was the worst place for him – and having Severus as a guardian certainly didn't help any. Severus remained near the very top of Voldemort's hit list, and would continue to do so.

The classrooms here were all unused. Covered in dust... a few months earlier, Severus would've bet a million Galleons that Draco wouldn't be caught dead in such filth. But then he'd found Draco, one night, crouching in the cinders of the fireplace of the Common Room to keep Russell Blake from finding him. Severus wouldn't have pegged Ross as much of a threat to his charge, but Draco knew much more about it than Severus.

Something was off. A door was hanging open down the hall. Severus sped up immediately – maybe a dirty hovel was the place Draco would pick to hide after all. But something was visible right through the opening as Severus approached – a hand, covered in blood, peeking around the door.

"Draco?" he called. He could see the sleeve cuff – it was green, the same colour Draco preferred to wear beneath his robes, in fine Slytherin tradition.

And indeed, it was Draco lying there. Severus was at the boy's side in an instant, healing up the self-inflicted wound before another drop of blood could be lost. He was alive – the amount of blood pooled beneath his arm was alarming, but not nearly enough to have killed him. His breathing was steady.

"_Enervate_," Severus muttered, looping his free arm around Draco's shoulders and drawing the boy's frame against him. "Draco, what in the name of God were you thinking?"

Draco glanced around in confusion before fixing on Severus. "Damnit... why did you have to choose now to start being around? Has he attacked yet?" Draco tried to pull away, but loss of blood surely made his limbs shaky. His hand slipped in a pool of red and sent him collapsing back into Severus' grasp.

"What were you thinking?" he demanded again.

"It was the only answer! I won't let anyone else get hurt because of what's in my veins, and I won't let bloody Voldemort be the one to kill me!" Draco tried to pull away again, managing to make it to his knees without collapsing completely. "Can't you let me make any choices for myself?"

Severus grabbed Draco's shoulder to keep him upright, shoving his wand out of the way. "Damnit... it's not an answer at all. You knew we had plans to keep him from getting to you! This is stupid – you've your entire life ahead of you!"

"My entire life – alone. I'll be trapped here until the day Voldemort is killed! I'll have to spend all summer playing solitaire because I'm not important enough for a moment of your precious time! Do you think I haven't been lonely? Hell, even Potter finally ended up with a father – I lost mine, and got stuck with you!" Draco snapped.

His eyes narrowed in response. "I've never pretended to be good at caring for children -"

"Caring?" Draco cut in. "Not caring! Ignoring! You've done nothing but leave me to my own devices. Professor, I just lost my entire life! I lost everything – and not only did you cast me adrift in Slytherin House, you finally took away my only friend and expected me to be fine! I'm not fine – I'm in pain, and you haven't bothered to notice!"

Severus was caught dumb. Draco had always seemed... fine. Well, there had been the awkward moment. Sometimes he'd stood there, as if expecting Severus to do... something... but he'd never known what. He wasn't used to dealing with a child constantly, how could he know what all the signals meant? "Why didn't you say something?" he finally asked.

"Because," Draco answered, sneering, "if you'd cared a bit, you'd have bothered to ask me. When I was sick, you never came to see me. When I was lonely, you ignored me and started a new potion. When I needed help, you sent me off to Dumbledore. Didn't you ever once think that maybe, just maybe, I had nothing left to live for?"

"I... I'm sorry..." Severus stuttered. It was the first time he'd said the words in years. "I didn't know- I'm not a parent, I- I can't take the place of Lucius or Narcissa. You're not like Potter, you knew your parents, and I can hardly measure up -"

"I know I'm not like Potter!" Obviously, that had been the wrong comment to make. "I'm not the savior of the wizarding world, and I'm not Dumbledore's pet, and I'm not a natural at Quidditch, and I'm not surrounded by a dozen admirers! Does that mean I'm not allowed to feel lonely or want someone to take over for my father? He wasn't that great at the job either! I just want somebody to be there – isn't that what my parents asked you to do?" Draco slumped forward, burying his face in his hands. "This is ridiculous. You don't care what happens to me, you've shown that well enough."

Severus opened his mouth to respond – of course he cared – but a click followed by a loud slam snapped him back to the present. There had been a closet at the back of the room – but it wasn't really a closet. He couldn't get to his wand fast enough.

+

"What are you talking about?" Harry demanded. Ignoring the possibility that Voldemort might be watching, he leaned forward in his chair and reached across the table to grab Hermione's hand. The touch snapped her out of her horror and brought her to focus. "What is it? What are we wrong about?"

Hermione snatched her hand away as if burned – Harry was strangely hurt by the move – and turned the book on the table. She pointed to the blueprint and waited.

Harry saw nothing special there. "It's a classroom," he said lamely. "Um... that's where Slytherin's tower was?"

"Yes, that's where it was," Hermione said, stabbing her finger against the page in a slightly different spot. "Back here. There was a secret passage, Harry, but it wasn't to Ravenclaw's rooms. It was a passage from Slytherin's rooms at the top of the tower to a point slightly down the hall... this classroom here. Can you see how thick the walls are, compared to elsewhere?" Harry didn't, but he wasn't about to admit. "It just lets out _near_ Ravenclaw Tower," Hermione continued. "That's where the stories of the affair came from... they weren't really lovers, students just saw him lingering near Ravenclaw's rooms when they walked by!"

So every story _did_ have some kernel of truth – just not the truth they'd expected. "So what does that mean?" Harry demanded. "How far are we set up from the actual passage?"

Hermione turned the book around and stared down at it. "The Ravenclaw students are all just around the corner. And the Hufflepuff students are very nearby. Oh, Harry, this could turn out very badly... we've only a few minutes, we can't possibly alert everyone in time -"

Harry jumped to his feet. "We have to hurry, then. Go find Dumbledore and the others! I'll head to Hufflepuff Tower – if I bang on the door, they'll answer. I'm sure they've been warned that something's to happen tonight. Tell Uncle Re I'll meet him outside of that room? I have to be there – to stop the visions -"

"Yes, I know," Hermione murmured. She set the book back on the shelf and followed Harry at a dash, past an angered Madame Pince, for the door. "I'll send them there right away!" she called as they parted ways. "Be careful – he might already be in the building!"

Harry headed in the direction of the Hufflepuff Tower – but his destination was the room, instead. Someone had to make it there first; to bar the door... otherwise Voldemort would have free-reign of the school before anyone could stop him. He glanced outside as he ran past a window – the sun was dipping below the horizon. Time had run out.

+

Draco watched an expression of horror spread across his godfather's face as a click and a slam echoed through the nearly empty room. Snape was reaching for his wand, but it was too late – a "_Petrificus Totalus_" sent a burst of magic past Draco's ear, and Snape toppled, frozen, to the side. He hadn't the time to spin around before a long, gnarled hand grabbed at his shoulder and another wrapped around his neck, pulling him – choking – to his feet.

"My, my," hissed a voice, so familiar from his nightmares, into his ear. "Thank goodness Severus made it here in time. I would've been so angry if you'd managed to take your life before I arrived. That is what you were doing, wasn't it?" Draco made a gurgle – he hadn't breath to do anything else – and Voldemort laughed. "Avery, wake up dear Severus. I'd like him to watch, aware... oh yes, and I mustn't cut off all your air, little Malfoy. I do need you alive for the next few minutes."

His next breath was bitter – it would be one of his last, after all. Snape was already unfrozen and hauled to his feet by a Death Eater Draco didn't recognize, and none other than Vincent Crabbe. He knew his face betrayed his fear. It no longer mattered. Voldemort slid his arm around Draco's torso entirely, trapping his arms. "Now, then... where's that dagger, Avery? Shame to slit such a perfect little neck, but one can't be choosy, where magic is concerned..."

There was no reason to plead. He might as well die as his father had – proudly. Snape lunged forward, trying to break away from his captors, but the flat of a blade was suddenly pressed against Draco's skin, and Snape stopped cold. "Don't do it," Snape growled, "he's just a boy! I thought this was too low for even you!"

"Why should I care what happens to a Malfoy brat? They're not even entirely human. I'd threaten to slit his throat if you move, but what's the point? I'll do it whether you do or not."

The chanting hadn't started yet. Draco vividly remembered Baker and Avery chanting as his mother was murdered. He jerked forward, cringing against the pain he intended to cause himself, but Voldemort was faster. "No, no, not yet, boy." The blade was pulled away, skin unbroken. "Avery, why don't you go ahead and start?"

Snape gave a roar and lunged again, managing to pull away from his captors. Avery was his target – the blade was too close to Draco. Crabbe kicked his legs from under him, and the Potions Master crumpled to the ground, Vince's entire bulk pinning him there, and the boy's new wand to his throat. Snape wrenched his head to the side and managed to meet Draco's eyes – his were filled with apology.

So were Draco's. There was nothing left to do but hold still and hope it was as fast for him as it had been for his mother. The chant started in the background. And Draco closed his eyes as the dagger came down.

Read? Review!


	24. And Blood Spilling

A/N: Last chapter. I'm posting the epilogue momentarily. It's been fun, guys — and enjoy book five in mere days!

Chapter Twenty-Three – And Blood Spilling

A loud roar came echoing down the corridor as Harry approached the room Hermione had found on the map, and he sped up immediately in response. Something was most certainly wrong – was Voldemort already in the building? It had sounded like the voice of an adult man. Had a teacher been in the line of fire?

Wand already in hand, he rounded the corner, and nearly screamed at what he saw. A closet door in the back of the dank classroom hung open on one hinge, exposing a dark passage leading off to unknown ends – the secret passage of Slytherin, open for the first time in a thousand years. Off to the right stood half a dozen Death Eaters, surrounding the hunched form of their leader. Another six stood across the room, the familiar bulk of one – Vincent Crabbe – pinning Professor Snape to the ground. And, most horribly, Draco Malfoy was held firm in the grip of Voldemort, a dagger of glinting silver shining at the Slytherin's throat in the old man's hand.

Before he knew what he was doing, Harry dashed forward, slamming against the nearest of the Death Eaters – a skinny, tall man whose skin was pale beneath his mask. "Let him go, Voldemort – he's the son of one of your supporters! Do you honestly think killing him will help your recruiting?"

The old man moved as Harry did, jerking Malfoy around in his hold. "This isn't your business, Potter. What's the loss of a Slytherin to a noble Gryffindor? One less to go bad, isn't that what they say?"

Harry stayed half behind the Death Eater he'd trapped, using the man as a shield just as Voldemort used Malfoy. However, Harry was quite aware that, should Voldemort wish it, the man Harry held hostage would be nothing more than cannon fodder. Only a temporary hiding place. "I don't care what House he's in. He has as much of a right to life as anyone."

"This is ridiculous – I'm not here to waste my time on you. Avery, keep chanting! Just stand there and watch, Potter, there's not a thing you can do to stop this." Malfoy went rigid as Voldemort spoke and opened his eyes, staring across the space between at Harry in resignation.

A cloaked man – Avery, Harry supposed – chanted, and Voldemort was right – there wasn't anything he could do. The words rose and fell in a lyrical tongue, totally unfamiliar to Harry. Dumbledore would be too late, he thought. Draco Malfoy's life could be counted in mere minutes.

The chanting rose to a climax, but the unexpected occurred. Before the knife could slide across Malfoy's throat, Snape twisted under Crabbe's bulk and made a grab for Voldemort – and his reach was enough. He caught the hem of Voldemort's robe and gave a yank; it wasn't enough to startle him into dropping the knife, but the blade did slip. Malfoy gave a cry as the dagger cut, not across his throat, but was driven into the flesh of his shoulder.

Voldemort cursed loudly, kicking the side of Snape's head and keeping Malfoy pinned against him. The magic was beginning – a glow enveloped the bent form of Voldemort almost immediately. "Crabbe, kill the traitor! _Hemophilae_," he shouted.

Harry knew that word – hemophilia, it was the disease that kept blood from clotting. If Hermione was right, then, Voldemort would certainly win, since Voldemort's spell would keep Malfoy bleeding. And if Harry knew his magic... it meant he'd have to counter the _hemophilae_ before casting an _asceptio_ to close the wound. Two spells? He'd never be able to cast two before Voldemort could kill Malfoy simply out of spite –

And then, in a split second, the other half of Voldemort's statement connected. Crabbe grabbed a handful of Snape's long (and greasy) hair and pulled back the professor's head, raising his wand to end the man's life eye to eye. Harry dropped his hostage and pounced, catching Crabbe's wand in his free hand and smashing his other (wand in hand) into the former student's face. Crabbe toppled to the side, carrying Harry with him, and gave Snape a chance to clamber away.

During it all, Malfoy slumped in Voldemort's grasp. His school robes were plastered to his torso, wet with blood, and his shirt plainly showed the spreading stain. As Harry finally managed to knock Crabbe from the fight completely, he turned to take the rest of the scene into account. More Death Eaters were approaching him. Snape had his wand, but from the slightly glazed look hovering on the professor's features, Voldemort's kick had hit true. Avery, still chanting, had taken to cowering by Voldemort's side, and Voldemort – the Dark Lord looked no more than sixty. Malfoy was losing blood, and fast.

There were two avenues of escape for Voldemort – the classroom door, right into the heart of the fortress, and back out the way he'd come. With a quick "_Expelliarmus_," Harry sent another Death Eater flying away and made a dash for the closet. He slammed it closed and locked it with a spell, insuring that no reinforcements would arrive from that direction before a flunky grabbed ahold of his robe and dragged him back.

He fought with all his might, and saw Snape doing the same, but two people could only hold for so long against a dozen Death Eaters. Voldemort had reached fifty. Malfoy was fading too fast.

*

"Professor!" Hermione screamed, pushing through a crowd of Ravenclaws. She reached Lupin first – Dumbledore wasn't to be seen in the crowd, and McGonagall was wading through a sea of first and second-years a ways down. "Oh, Professor Lupin, I was wrong!"

"Wrong about what?" Lupin asked. He took a step away from a seventh-year (Hermione didn't know him well) and crossed the hallway. "There's no passageway?"

Hermione let out an unintentional sob and launched into her story. "No- No, there's certainly a passage, Professor, but it's not into the Ravenclaw dormitories. Slytherin had an escapeway built from his Tower into the hall, probably in case of a fire! There's a classroom there – It's just around the corner, what if You Know Who comes through and finds all the Ravenclaws in the hall -?"

Throughout, Lupin's face slowly paled. "We haven't time," he broke in, half-turning from Hermione. "Minerva, get them back inside! He's not coming through there! They're all in the way!"

McGonagall roughly shoved a boy from in front of her, face frozen in horror. "Where?" she demanded, ignoring the queries sent her way by dozens of Ravenclaws. "Where's he coming? How do I get them out of the way?"

"The Great Hall, by way of the Fat Lady," Hermione suggested. "I'm almost positive it's this classroom, but just in case I was wrong -"

She didn't wait for Hermione to finish. "Prefects! We're evacuating to the Great Hall! Remus, go with Miss Granger – Granger, stay out of the line of fire, I'll send Albus – Miss Karema, please follow the prefects, I promise you'll be fine -"

Lupin grabbed Hermione's shoulder as McGonagall went on with her work. "Hermione, where's Harry?"

"Gone to warn the Hufflepuffs. He said he'd meet us outside the classroom. Do you remember the spell, Professor? It's absolutely imperative -"

"_Yes_, Hermione, this is Harry's life we're talking about. I won't forget the spell! Now, which classroom do you mean?" He turned her from the crowd, and Hermione took the initiative, pulling out her wand just in case.

The classroom really was only a hallway away. Harry wasn't waiting, but Hermione could hear a scuffle inside – and a sick feeling flooded into her stomach.

*

Remus saw the open door and left Hermione behind as he went into a desperate dash for the classroom. It was as he feared, as he passed the doorjam – Severus was backed into one corner, Harry fighting for his life in another, and Voldemort shouting orders from the center, Draco Malfoy's life bleeding over the Dark Lord's hands. Voldemort looked to be in his forties – barely older than Remus.

He didn't dare distract Harry in the midst of a fight, but disarmed two Death Eaters before his surprise was lost. Voldemort was roaring something in anger, but Remus ignored him. The Death Eater beside the Dark Lord caught Remus' attention, but first things had to come first – he raised his arms, trusted in Severus and Harry, and closed his eyes. He didn't understand the words that flowed from his mouth after weeks of obsessive practice in the fear – hope? – that Voldemort might show his face. He knew the translation, though: "shelter the mind, cut the bond, save the soul." Dramatic, yes, but Hermione had assured him that it would work, and the words rolled from his tongue, and light shot from his wand and broke in two...

Voldemort let out a cry and dropped Draco Malfoy, the silver dagger going flying. He collapsed to his knees and cradled his head. Harry did the same, falling forward against his attackers – he was hidden in the crush of two Death Eaters, and Remus let out a cry louder than Voldemort's as he fully ignored the Dark Lord and went charging into the few upright Death Eaters near Harry. He could hear Hermione disarming others, but Harry was in danger. Remus didn't hesitate to send a man flying using every ounce of the unnatural strength gifted by his curse. The other tasted Remus' fist before slumping to the side and allowing the werewolf in.

Harry was breathing – and conscious; he looked up, eyes slightly off, and gave a strained smile. "It snapped – like a rubber band, it snapped and hit me straight on -"

"Are you alright?" Remus demanded. "Did I hurt you? Oh, God... did what I do hurt you?"

"No! I'm alright, I'm fine -"

Harry's response was cut off by a shriek. Remus spun in place, coming face to face with a Voldemort who could be no older than Remus himself. His eyes – brown, not unnaturally red – were slightly glassy, just like Harry's, and the tip of his wand was jammed against Hermione's temple.

Severus could be seen over the Dark Lord's shoulder, triumphant over his multitude of enemies. Draco Malfoy was slumped on the floor, no longer conscious. But something was missing from the picture – the chanting and the eerie light surrounding Voldemort were both gone. Avery lay on the floor, the victim of one of Severus' curses.

Instantly, Remus recognized what had happened. Hermione had grabbed Draco Malfoy as he fell and closed the wound before Voldemort overcame the shock of the severing of the magical contact. In response, he'd grabbed Hermione. "Let her go – a hostage won't help you any," Remus snapped.

Harry let out a moan and grabbed Remus' hand, eyes wide in worry over his friend. Voldemort laughed in response. "It helps plenty – you daren't harm me when she's in the way..."

And it was true. Stalemate.

*

Harry's head was spinning in pain. It felt odd – detatched – he was firmly planted within his own head. He trusted Hermione's spell, but could only hope that he'd not have another vision of Voldemort's killings. But the man standing over Malfoy's inert body wasn't Lord Voldemort anymore. He was sadly and truly Tom Riddle. And he had Hermione.

It was Harry's worst nightmare. He'd never wanted to put his friends in danger, but every move he made pulled Hermione and Ron into the thick of things. And now, she might die for his mistake... His hand shook as he tried to raise his wand, but exhaustion took over. There wasn't a possibility that he still had enough strength to fight anyone, let alone Tom Riddle at the height of his power. 

And then a shadow fell across the doorway. "You look well, Tom," a restrained voice greeted from just outside of Harry's vision.

Tom's eyes narrowed and he kept Hermione between him and the door. "Professor Dumbledore... I... what are you doing here?"

"You needn't hold her captive, Tom. Please, let my student free. Haven't you caused enough trouble today?" Dumbledore came through the door, wand held limply at his side.

"I won't give in to you. I'm not human to you, am I? I wasn't worth your time." Riddle accused. "You won't get the best of me this time – you moulder while I'm young again. Young, healthy, and HUMAN. Even Pettigrew couldn't do that for me."

Dumbledore sighed deeply, face creased with every year. "I'm sorry I couldn't save you from yourself, Tom."

A flash of anger crossed the Dark Lord's young face. "No – you will not win! I'll show you just how much power I have! Everything you've thrown at me, I've overcome!"

"Overcome, and slipped farther toward your own destruction. You play with forces beyond your control." Dumbledore took another step forward. "It isn't too late for you... you've a second chance, now, even if it was bought with blood."

"I don't believe in second chances." Riddle's back was to the door, Hermione firmly planted in front of him. Safe from his opponents, Riddle turned his wand to the door. "_Alohomora_," he murmured, and the click of the lock opening rang through the small classroom. "This isn't over, you know. The brat isn't dead, but I've enough youth to let me defeat anyone – even you, old man."

Dumbledore gave a sigh. "If that's what you want... just leave the girl behind. I won't follow you. Not today." Slowly, with a flourish, he pocketed his wand.

Harry couldn't believe his eyes – he'd never known Dumbledore to make a foolish mistake, but putting his wand away certainly qualified. Riddle was a threat, in any guise; and more of a threat now that he looked like an average man in his early thirties. He could walk into a Muggle home and destroy it even before the owners realized he was something other than the milkman. He was a danger. And did Dumbledore think that Riddle would change – could change?

For a horrifying moment, Harry expected Riddle to kill Hermione and make a run for it, but he didn't. Instead, he met Dumbledore's gaze and nodded shortly. "Another day, Professor." He shoved Hermione forward and opened the door in the same swift movement, and was gone before Hermione tripped over Draco's inert body and hit the floor.

Harry and Snape were at their sides in an instant, Dumbledore and Remus only a step behind. Hermione burst into tears and let Harry drag her to her feet while Snape lowered himself to the ground and pulled Malfoy into his arms. "He's breathing," he reported. "Granger, you did an adequate job with the wound."

"Adequate?" Remus asked with a snort. He patted Hermione's shoulder. "More than adequate, under the circumstances. I'd say... heroic. Worthy of the title Gryffindor?"

"Certainly an act worthy of any Gryffindor," Dumbledore murmured. "Now, Severus, let us get young Malfoy down to the infirmary. Madame Pomfrey should be able to fix him right up... he's certainly out of danger now."

Snape slung Malfoy up into his arms like a child and nodded curtly, ignoring the others as he rushed from the room. Dumbledore followed with a smile for the students and Remus, leaving the three amid the pools of blood and unconscious Death Eaters. "We should wait until Minerva arrives," Remus suggested. "Argus won't be at all happy... he's had enough of cleaning blood out of stone, I think..."

"I think it's over, for now," Harry murmured. Hermione sniffled loudly and wiped at her face, nodding as Harry continued. "He'll have to rebuild his followers... after killing the Malfoys, that might be a problem..."

"Professor Dumbledore thinks he can change," Hermione whispered, voice a bit watery in the aftermath of tears. "Do you think it's possible?"

Remus shrugged. "Everything is possible... but once again, I think the professor is looking for innocence, when none remains. He's done it before."

"Then it's our job to make sure he won't do it again," Harry asserted. "We still have a bad guy to beat."

"But we have plenty of time in which to do it," finished Remus. "Right now, I think I'd like to go find some butterbeer. Madame Rosmerta owed me one as I left two years back. If we sneak out through the tunnels, no one will notice... Think she'll pay me back now?"

Harry grinned. "I'm sure of it. We can take Hermione and Ron too, right?"

Remus beamed back. "Of course. We can take anyone you want."

And Harry knew it for the truth. The fight wasn't over yet, but for once, life had to take precidence.

*

The pain in his shoulder was nothing compared to the elation Draco felt as he opened his eyes to find Snape and Dumbledore standing beside his bed. He tried to sit up immediately, but Snape caught his shoulder – the uninjured one – and pushed him back down. "Don't even think about it. You've lost an incredible amount of blood."

Dumbledore nodded sagely. "Indeed. If it hadn't been for Miss Granger's courageous actions, there would be no more Malfoys."

At that, Draco couldn't help but wrinkle his nose. "Granger? I owe Granger a life-debt?" The Mudblood? The shame! He'd never live that down... although, there weren't any friends to tease him about it...

"You do," Snape said, smirking. "I've no doubt she'll find a use for you."

It was good to see the smirk. "Ugh... what else did I miss? Obviously Voldemort's dead, or I wouldn't be ali -"

"Voldemort is alive," Dumbledore cut in, frowning, "but not the creature he was. He is Thomas Riddle again... he appears to be your godfather's age. I doubt we've seen the last of him... but you are safe. You will not be a target again."

"Oh, I'll be a target," Draco growled, grimacing past the pain. "He is _not_ getting away with murdering my parents and stabbing a hole in my body. Just count me in to whatever plans you've concocted – I may not be much use now, but by the time I graduate, I'm sure I'll be of use."

And then, shockingly, Snape smiled. "I've wanted to hear that from you for years."

"Yes, well, he's underestimated me." Draco pushed away offered help and worked his way into a sitting position. "So it's over for now? Potter's not dying, Granger gets my life-debt, Lupin's a being?"

Dumbledore nodded and ruffled Draco's hair. Draco, of course, scowled and set about putting it to rights before Dumbledore had even finished speaking. "It's over for now. I should be getting down to give the all-clear, but I wanted to assure myself that you were alright. We were quite worried about you, Mr. Malfoy. Rest now... there's a game of chess waiting to be played up in my office, though you'll have term finals to take in a few weeks..."

Even term finals sounded good – at least he'd be breathing to take them. Dumbledore left and Snape remained in the Infirmary. His smile faded away. "We need to finish the conversation we were having when Riddle so rudely intruded."

"We do," Draco mumbled. Taking a deep breath, he summoned all the regrets and hopes of the last months and, in perhaps his most mature act yet, remained calm. "I didn't mean to snap, but I'm so sick of being compared to Potter – he's not a bad bloke, really, but he's not the bloody messiah or anything. I'm _not_ Potter, nor do I want to be. I want a family, but I've lost it. I want someone to be there when I need them, even if I can take care of myself. I didn't have the best childhood, because of everything my father was into, but that doesn't mean I should have to be alone for the rest of my life." He crossed his arms, poking lightly at the bandages across his shoulder as a way of avoiding Snape's gaze.

"You're right, you know," was the surprising response. "You deserve a parent. Lucius and Narcissa asked me to do it, and I've been doing a ridiculously bad job up until this point. I can't promise I'll be any better."

"And I can't promise I'll be perfect Potter," Draco countered, "I can only be what I am."

Snape nodded slowly. "Well, then, I think that's sorted. I have one question first – what do you _really_ think of Potter?"

Draco snorted loudly, rolling his eyes. "If his ego's inflated anymore by Granger, he'll float right off the Quidditch pitch. And I'm sure this last bit won't help any – he faced Riddle and survived yet again. Will we ever hear the end of it?"

Snape laughed loudly, clapping Draco on the shoulder. "That's it then – any other answer, and it might've been all off... I think, if we try hard enough, we'll both get on just fine..."

And they did.


	25. Epilogue

****

Epilogue

Chapter Twenty-Four: Curtains Close

In a cramped apartment, a dark-haired man stumbled through the doorway and tossed his leather briefcase atop the nearest chair, ignoring the faint tea stains on the carpet beneath his feet and the piles of newspapers congregating on the floor. A large pile of letters were deposited on top of the suitcase as the man tossed his shoes beneath an endtable and chucked his sportcoat at its peg on the wall, missing by nearly a meter. 

The room screamed bachelor' of its occupant. Piles of unwashed dishes cluttered the kitchenettte, clothes were strewn about, dirty and clean mixed together, and the only empty space in the entire studio apartment was that of an overstuffed easy-chair across from a television. The man slumped into the chair, putting his feet up on a beer-can-covered table, and let out a low sigh.

He'd been living in the apartment for almost half a year, since his midnight escape from the island of his birth. After twelve years of confinement and three on the run, home was certainly a nice word to use — but it was a home without old friends and familiar sights. His job wasn't bad, either. As a legal assistant, he was quickly learning the ins and outs of his new life, as a Muggle. It wasn't anything like his first job, as an Auror, but it was something. It was the name that threw him off every moment a coworker opened his or her mouth — how could one respond to "Samuel" when "Sirius" had been the original? 

Had another aquaintence known of the location of the little apartment, and the contents of the papers housed there, Samuel Black would certainly be dead. A curse-proof safe beneath the dirty sink held an ever-growing pile of papers sent by post from Scotland. There was a list of agents working for the Order, a list of possible sympathizers within the ranks of Slytherin, all the names of the known collaborators of Voldemort, and — most importantly to Samuel — a thick packet containing the medical records of one Harold James Potter. Hidden thus, no one would discover a weakness to exploit within the defenders of the Light.

Samuel was forever banished from both sides — Light and Dark — and from the magical world as a whole. His new routine introduced him to the power breakfast, the late-night overtime, and the wonders of Starbucks, where the English breakfast, nine-to-five workday, and butterbeer were once the norm. Start a new life, Remus had said — and Samuel was, with new name, new job, new home, new wardrobe, and new outlook on life.

The packet of papers held him back, however. Harry had been sick when he'd left, and Sam desperately wanted to know what had happened to his godson; and to Remus, Dumbledore, McGonagall, and the others, of course, but none so much as Harry.

With a frown, he grabbed the remote, turned on the tube (as his new, American colleagues called it), and slumped deeply into the favourite chair.

"... fair weather will continue, topping off somewhere between 80 and 85 degrees tomorrow. Some rain may follow on Sunday, with temperatures dropping to highs in the upper 70's. Now, in national news, President Clinton is continuing his visit to the Palestinian president, Yassir Arafat..."

The news was all depressing, anyways. Samuel flipped through to a badly made scifi programme and tossed the remote onto the crowded table, reaching finally for his pile of mail. At first, it was all the same — a bill for his car insurance, greatly increased from the month before due to an accident involving a flashback to British motorways — everyone else just drove on the wrong side. A fairly large stack of junk mail. An order form for a CD club, promising twelve new CDs for free. And there, on the bottom, an off-white envelope of parchment, addressed in a familiar green ink.

He tore it open eagerly, extracting a letter and another envelope.

__

Sirius — 

My dear boy, I promised to send on a letter from young Harry, but events over the past few weeks have taken their toll. As promised, though a little late, the letter is inclosed. You may certainly respond as well — just send it by the regular Muggle post to Reginald Lupin, Flat 3b, 108 Kilburn High Street, Maida Vale. Your boy will receive it there. As always, keep our secrets safe, and hope for the end of the troubles.

~A.D.

The note was tossed aside in favour of the smaller envelope as soon as its contents were perused, and that envelope was shredded open as well. A smiling picture of a man and a boy fell out onto Sam's lap, the picture frozen, as all Muggle photographs. The man beamed fondly at the boy, who looked to be twice as healthy as their last meeting, in December. And then that letter was read as well.

__

Dear Sirius,

I hope Professor Dumbledore will send this to you without any problems. I'm fine. Hedwig is fine, but she seems a little miffed that I won't use her to send this to you. I've finished fifth year just fine — Snape's test was easier than last year, and I aced DADA again. I'm living with Uncle Re, now. He adopted me, isn't that cool? That act of Percy's was passed, and all.

Things are fine. I don't know how much Dumbledore told you about a few weeks ago, but Voldemort attacked Hogwarts. Dumbledore fought him off, and Uncle Re was able to cut the whole connection thing, so that's fine too. And Malfoy's fine — Voldemort didn't kill him or anything, he just tried.

  
Uncle Re says I should tell you about Hermione. I don't know why. She's fine, too. She found the spell Uncle Re used. Ron's working with his dad, this summer, learning how to do things at the Ministry. He wants to go and work there after school's over all of a sudden. I think it has to do with that sister of his that died. Um, Uncle Re's yelling at me for writing that part, but I don't see what harm it can do — Dumbledore said you're off in some other country, so it's not like you'll tell anyone.

I had a dream last night. Not a bad one, though, a good one. You came back to England, and you were married to a brunette. And I was more than a bit older. If Dumbledore hadn't let Voldemort go (he's younger now, and looks about your age, because he tried to kill Malfoy) it would all be done, but I guess it'll turn out all right in the end, anyways. I just wanted you to know, since you might be kinda sad out wherever you are, all alone.

Dumbledore didn't send you to Germany, right? I'm not supposed to ask, but I know how you can't speak German or anything, and you were worried about it. Hermione says it's silly, because German is easier to learn than English — she's here, you know. She was just in the loo when I started writing. She's visiting, because her family just lives up the line and she takes a train in to Euston to go shopping and to the British Museum. There's a whole wing in the back dedicated to wizards, did you know that? You have to keep following the signs for the North American exhibit, which isn't actually there. If you're a wizard, you can poke one of the signs and get through, but Muggles just keep going in circles.

Ooh, Uncle Re's burning the cookies again. I need to go help air out the kitchen. I promise I'll write again soon. I miss you. Hermione says she misses you too, and that you should learn everything you can about the history of the country you're living in. She made me write that, but she's back helping Uncle Re with the smoke now. Malfoy keeps making fun of me about that — he says Hermione fancies me, but I think he's been sniffing too many potions. He spends most of the time hanging around in the dungeons with Snape. Oh, and he beat Ron at chess.

Really have to go now, Uncle Re's set Hermione's hair on fire by accident.

Love, Harry

Sam read through the letter twice, ignoring the tears running down his cheeks. Losing his chance to be Harry's father was the most painful moment of his life — but knowing he'd someday be allowed to reenter the wizarding world was far more of a relief than he'd imagined. And Harry was in good hands — Remus was the best possible man for the job, better than even Sam would be able to do.

He scrubbed at his face, rising from his seat and stuffing the letter in his pocket. There was a bar down the street that he frequented — not nearly as nice a place as the pubs back in Surrey, but certainly worth visiting to think over his future. He backed out of the door, locking it and turned to walk to the elevator, only to find himself ramming face-first into a brunette, and sending her groceries scattering across the hallway.

"Oh, gosh — so sorry, I wasn't minding my way -"

"Not your fault — I thought I left a bag in the elevator, and I turned around to see if it was still there -"

Conscious of the letter in his pocket and the dream-prophecy of Harry's contained within, Samuel knelt down and started piling the spilt groceries back into the bags. "Here, let me make it up to you — I'd love to buy you a drink." 

And life went on, one moment at a time.

The End (Credits role, accompanied by bad, pop-star version of the Hogwarts School Song, to the tune of Smash Mouth's "All Star" Every movie has a scary pop-star song - scary, eh?)

A/N: Lookit that! I wrote a happy-ish ending! Aren't you proud of me? Those who've read Sunday, Bloody Sunday' should be grinning by now, despite the cheese dribbling from my brain. I can't believe I made it happy. It goes against my better judgement, but... hey, Riddle's still around! At least I didn't make Harry into superman! That counts for something, right?

AND I didn't ship the whole thing! Yeah, so I didn't win on that completely... but there's no actual fluffiness... even if it did creep into the end... yay?

Oh, and I hate the Americas exibit at the British Museum. I've tried to find it half a dozen times. My best friend assures me it exists, but I'm now positive that she's really a witch and is just playing taunt the Muggle' — she's a Slyth, after all. Then again... so am I! Hope you enjoyed reading, and if you haven't left a review, I'd be pleased as punch to see what you thought about the whole thing.


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